Flowers & Brandy to find the right words
and trust in power itself
Pen strikes in motel bathrooms
A long walk from the lake
While the others sleep
Here where there have been other transformations
Only months ago as their piercing eyes gripped her soul
Not here, but there
In the park where there are transformations
Where once there was a search for truth
Where once was catharsis
Wherever is growth is death
Now there are words
Think again how souls rise and sink
Read of order, dancing words
The order of expression
The spirit that travels without a sound
get your head out of the clouds. those words on paper sit and waste away. they say the cycle is generate, conceptualize, optimize, implement. time to play implementer.
keep your wits through this explosion. they want to tell you how to think. do not struggle. listen, understand, adapt. do not let any sliver of your mind, body, spirit be co-opted. there is only inner truth. it must remain pure.
do not censor yourself mute. speak here, now, without fear.
Hung out by mud huts on the Serengeti Plain
Surrounding the clock tower
And by the fruit stand along the traffic circle
Walking along the dirt road, slender long bodies, witnessed alive.
Across – aisles on the Avenue, to navigate so delicately between
Still, fat, round, Bodies of clay
Encased by glass walls and resting
Alongside cherubs on canvases, imagined, ordered, interpreted.
And my body, and our bodies
Becoming lost to Africa
Passing stale carcasses rotting on the Plain.