before you even
open your mouth, have you ever
considered the weight
of one's
word?

if one would
like to speak of a
flower,
one should wash their
mouth with tea,
and make sure
their speaking is
as clean it can
be

In the museum and
looked at humans bathing
in fresh streams and open
fields

***** bottles on display and
butterflies on display

the evening turned to gold
I was mesmerized by
my own footsteps
their constant motion

the leaves,
plants and bugs left
an orchestra of singing sounds

my feet enveloped by
the mud, pulling me in
to stay

swimming in these deep waters
I say
“This
is the most peaceful experience
I’ve ever had”

In the wetness and
quietness,
a heron flies by, a symbol of
wisdom

“Really?”
swimming backwards where the fish
jump out and spring with delight
“I wouldn’t say it if I
didn’t mean it”.

the smile I will never forget
speaking about having
a house on the water
and bathing in streams,
just like the museums

Eye contact
Takes hold
A coming of age
Bittersweetness overtakes
me.

We spoke of how
the pine trees there
were
so far away from
home

Yet, we both
felt the
same way.

Getting lost in the darkness
after a cool swim in the
river,
You put a flashlight on


The overwhelming sunset had
passed,
and overcoming our confusion,

We watched the bats
with their tricks in the air,
daintily gliding and
searching for
small insects.

I remember my faint
Breaths, climactic
Walking and breathing through the
twigs and leaves

“it would be exciting to glide like
that”.

I watch the dance
of four bats,
celebrating our bodies as
intricate lures for
small bugs

small vampires
nip my skin,
unknowing of the
romantic, short
symbiotic relationship

the walk back to my
vehicle is isolated and
cold,
wishing I was
swimming in those cool waters
once again

yes I am aware
that voice
inside the skull


   speaks to me
late

at night

please do tell
I want      to know
who    this is

impulsive feels like
ecstasy, too good to
be true

cycling everyday through
the same simulation and
             some    
how

somehow there

are


buffers

the
paranoia envelopes
me
like a

warm
    
    blanket

when floors are cold,
the bed,
goosebumps

enter the oasis,
water splashing on my
face like warm holy water

in the shower and inhaling
steam, I think
I understand moths
when they
drown in the flame

I breathe the blood
You lick the copper
Little angels dance in
Their secretive ways

Who’s behind the
Curtain?
Do you
Enjoy it?

Who’s behind
The mask?

Breakfast at 9, sharp
and it's vital time.

That large fat man
with the boyish face
tells me to come
on,
and I do

Pitter patter like
the hammers of
rain on the tin roof,
but my feet are in
rhythm. Jog will you,
jog.

Cold and blue, my skin
shows the roots and
highway of veins. I am sat
down, and grabbed like
a quick decision
purchase.

They twine it around my arm and
tell me to make a fist. I'm numb,
I say, I feel a fever.
The fat oily man
nods and
smiles.

Who's this lady,
tapping on my forearm?
Blue-blood, let me
go.
They're tapping into
the oil wells,
I think.

5 vials now, my pupils
are blurred. I am
spurting red into the
tube, this is not
the Gross
Clinic.

After it is
ceased,
a quick snap and
tape on the gauze.
I'm shoo'd out,
go eat.

She said we were
running for errands,
and that it'd be good
for me to get out of
bed.

I arrive at the building,
so bold and formidable
tint windows,
venom.

It's for your own good,
she said. It's for the
best. I'm taken to
a blast of white
rays

The women peeled off
my clothes, and
told me to spread,
hold up my hands and
jump.

Humiliation and nakedness
is this how it has become?
Feverish, and shiver
I am swung a gown
on, but not the lace
one like
home.