I trace a line from freckle to freckle. A red trail the Judas of my nail borrowed from the blood. With ayahuasca eyes we were convinced of lines where there were no lines and I drew constellations of kites to fly the skies of my skin. Sheltered within the ages the stars are no longer warriors of myth, they cuddle shlyly into the suburban smog and hide wisely from the mirth of the moon. Constellations etched and chisled in too deep to bleed and too sharp to sin fade away to nothing, lines lost to loud currents without their angles to keep them firmly in place--a circle escapes.
Wow! That's amazing, I love it! I haven't read a poem that good in ages, man, that was incredible! Thank you so much for sharing that! I especially loved this line: "With ahyausca eyes we were convinced of lines" Oh, one thing though. It's spelled ayahuasca.
"a circle escapes.", she writes. *puts forefinger to lips and silently considers* But do we ever escape The Circle?
this is incredible stuff. You're a capital P Poet. I'm a sucker for constellation talk. "kites to fly the skies of my skin." Awesomeness. I like the stars new role in suburbia but Orion is still a warrior even veiled in pollution. Gracias for this
Haha, thanks guys. (The bat scene cracks me up by the way). Osiris you are quite right as usual, thought the circle may escape us we are happy prisioners to its dimensions. Inbloom, I will try to post something soon. You can always search my archives, it's almost all poetry....years worth, happy trails.
