they twinkle in the sky. in a garland of smiles. and i ran up to them tonight. stretching my arms to the furthest i could. tell me what tomorrow says. and the day after. and the day after. this labor stole my waters.
i believe in belief. and the petals of hope. and the lyrics of prayer. of a free mind, and a free spirit. and a free soul.
dear god of pearls, where is the moon? i stole her flakes, like paper-boats on ash. and in the box by my lamp, i grow her nails. sprinkle with love from a canister of doves. freedom. and gold. widowed in this palette of brittle wood. wanton. flames. and flames. what did you burn? flesh. or sand. or crimson turpentine by the howling rivulets?
i pause. a moment. the clocks tick. dali is dead. and alive. and dead. and alive. and alive. and alive. a moment gone. pregnant with fumes from Nazi clay. where did wisdom hide that day? when man killed flesh. holding hands. the realism of imagery tonight is a carousel of fantasies. spinning like a top. on grass. and air. spinning. spin. whirring. whir.
your faith. and belief. and prayers. will be thanked one day. when you ring your knuckles in the sheen of platinum. raw and fierce like bleeding dandelions. one day, when the velvet folds to the anomaly of doorsteps. and your foot prints, i will measure. and smile with the moon. nights after nights. playing cancer gods. infectious? no. succumb. and fight. fight with your fists. make a clutter of rhyme on the dime of your shade. that vacancy of home. homeless with beggars and bangle-sellers, scurrying to the mountains. and to art. and paint. and pastel green. the wax and mush of your vulnerabilities. tangible to my spleen. oh love of loves. twinkle tonight. like diamonds on satin. or a corsage of sapphire. ruby-bled with wisdom.
for truth. what is truth?
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