Calamity churning souls, pride made sacred, anxiety born
to excellence.
I was more about culture, given traumas, deep seas,
detoured hopes—emotion needing its training.
A vase of damsel flies, a jug of bee honey, a cliff of
gutter art. In becoming a mongoose, baffled again, suffering hallucinations;
cobras watching, insects swarming, confusion tender in its mourning. Most
misunderstood, kites on a summer’s day, to ask a lady if breathing hurts? Sour,
iconic rain, dazzling motion, angst and aesthetics—fueled by hope filled tales.
To paint seahorses, to kneel at a creek, to enjoy flesh, taste skin, sip salt—a
bag of feathers, adrift upon a whisper, arriving in pieces: wrestling
happiness, as it blends with pains, coming and going as she pleases: no greater
exhibition, trying as we sail, surrounded by psychic observation—Panama dreams,
peninsula passions, numbers as sins, graves as portals, caves made into
revelation. Sure primatology—torn into confetti, skies filled with drawers, as
once upon a time: Malaysia beauty, Africa radiance, at some indecent diamond. Upon
a blue sun, listening to drongo, nibbling desert grass—tears and tiles, cacti
and clouds, elephants bathing in mud. To have thought exception, to have
chilled in tone, as believing against nature—a fierceness in gold, weaving out
weathers, born selfish, becoming selfless, to writhe in agonies.
