The promise
of tonight
stirs within

Let it
soon
begin

Throughout her adult life
all of the land shaded.
Feverless islands where the
aged couple sleep.
Never once have I hosted a party. Not once have I
told you, I have
been hurt.

I am no beast
tearing thru the wilderness.

I am a newt
hiding beneath the leaves
trying not to get crushed
beneath the feet
of those destroying my habitat.



But sometimes
you have to be a beast...

so I am a newt
with poisonous skin.

I want to live life in a Bob Ross painting
With serene monstrous mountains far off in the distance
The peak half covered by happy little clouds
A happy little tree and it’s many brothers and sisters
Blanketing the landscape of light snowfall and growing bushes
A small cabin bathed in melting snow rests comfortably
Next to a thawing private lake lit by a cadmium yellow sun

This is where I want to live
Swarmed in colors of titanium white,
Phthalo green and blue,
Midnight black,
Alizarin crimson,
And Indian yellow

Where there are no mistakes
Only happy accidents
Where the big decisions
And the tests of courage are
Where the next tree will go

In a Bob Ross painting
I could live peacefully

Gabriel,
blow your trumpet in my ear
so I may hear
the rise of lilies
Marching down my throat

Naked ladies and daffodils
King proteas and petunias
Spinach, celery and rocket

For the venus fly-trap has lost her teeth
in semi-nation feasting --

My gut is a gaza-strip:
holier than seven maries
times eleven matzot, squared

Who would raise the dandelion and the khaki-bos,
Who would shield the cornflower and the joseph's coat
in semi-nation trepidation

My gut is a gaza-strip
My nerves: a dead sea . . .

But Gabriel,
blow your trumpet in my ear again
so I can see
the significance of shattering


14 August, 2014