Outcasted kid with purple hair

Albeit not the kind of violet
That made your nostrils drip
With a watery ambrosia
Sugary enough to belong to a bee

And not the kind of
heavy, royal, omnipresent
contentment plum presents as a
molten lava
perfecting the pockmarks in the pie

My tendrils were not reminiscent of
home or
anything savoury so

I tangled them in tiaras
belonging to some Duchess' daughter or
one of Henry's wives or

Maybe twined them round
Frita's pallet and
Dyed my scalp a more pleasing hue or
Anything other than purple

Because purple was what I was not
Purple was Lilacs and
Pansies and Heliotropes and Tulips and
Lavender and

That little wild flower aforementioned

whose name I can't bare say
for the sake of
a humble beauty
such as hers

'twould be a shame to make comparable
To the wet-dog-fur look
Of my purple hair

And so I learned to get lost

In a past I always felt my own
Traveling continents and
Floating through eons

While my classmates  coloured in
British Columbia and
Where is Nunavut again?

Growing, I gained companions

A faery,
Athena,
Aslan and
Frodo, Einstein, Plato,
Theodore Geisel, Mahatma Ghandi
and Louis Leakey, Jamal Dewar,
Joan of Arc and John Lennon and
it all became
more complicated

Because my world was in flux
Oh it ebbed and it flowed and it expanded
Like the molten plum but this time
It really was more like lava

Assuredly you'll understand;
See the seams in our stitching!
Our Worlds are sewn together!

And as much as we would like
to cling to our
individualism

at some point we all must
accept that there is
but one

Intrinsic as our innards
Are our atoms and
Electrons and
mine are yours and
yours are hers and
ours together are all of the stars and
it really is
beautiful

At some point the twisting shroud
The squeezing and contracting -
of the world inside my head and
the world inside my eyes and
the world I was walking around in
and the world that I saw above me -
it tensed then halted
and became very dense
then melted

What a glorious
Ubiquitous, secure and everlasting amalgamation!
I opened my eyes
To find Van Goghs Scissors
All bloodied still and so
I cleaved my purple hair

But to find Hieronymus' oils and
watercolours so
I made my skin a hellish canvas
Painted all in yellows and blues
Without a hint of purple

Now from shoulders to forearm to wrist
from breast to navel to hip
from thigh to calf to foot
legible as anything are
lines that lilt and gleam
sighing songs of
devils and cherubs alike
and of sparrows and snakes

So after heaven is hell
and after hell is Nirvana
And Manna is as good as dirt
if Ambrosia is but
the spit of a bee

It all always works out
Because at the end comes
Death and after that
We don't know
But I do know that
I don't know
Much at all to begin with

Except for four things, almost assuredly:
1. Energy is all
2. I will never cease to find shouting at people from my bedroom or a car window amusing
3. My mother loves me more than anyone
4. Nothing is certain, except for uncertainty

I

Sun since discovered, released, now
eclipsed-

-spent shoes & leaves
vanished in
wind

II

It is without shame that I stand tempered
before the fervor
of the sea, sand
beneath my nails/throat heavy
with fog.

..Years become part of the water's process

(this process begins in the center of the Ocean, an unseen thrashing of instruments imitating war, screaming obscured by screaming, cut-
off by itself/bare

intersperse of salts, kelp, monsters without eyes
reside in blackness,
continuously repeating in solitude, where no human heart
can be placed without risk of dissent,
it too, becoming fury)

III

Feral baths
scrape their lyric
into the Dionysian Lid..

Dawns slight flaming fingers/Gökotta/
awake, my features appraise me/an interval now passed for gold
and heliotropes

The Body needs
The World
to hold you

Foreground trumpeting/Impatient Maker
of all which yearns
...now pleading

"Wake from
your underworld and witness
the collapsing of the
night!"






                               (((metamorphosis/strike)))

< I >
Day arc begins. The sunflower class gazes lovingly skyward at their fire-star teacher. The newest pupils chin-strain in awe-focused attention. Reverent but energetic, their heads smooth-turn gradually westward towards their warm reward. Their blooms are a balmy destination for sunning bees. Perfect timing, rippling into the world…  

A sage watched his plants while his plants tracked the sun
He thought that it wasn’t worth noting
that petals would right to keep facing the light
as the sun-facing side was selectively dried

So sagely inquiry was done
Until the idea could receive its refloating

A physical botanist noticed the same
He took it a logic step further
His plants were all placed and completely encased
in a darkness-bound dock for a turn of the clock

The plants kept rotating their aim
And he was the first timing rhythm observer

The more he considered, the more he was sure
He could, based on solid deduction,
with confidence say that they acted this way
Through an inner intense, sunlight following sense

And urged folks to study this more
With rigours of research and science instruction

Years later, two scientists lived in a cave
A one-month foray in spelunking
Still, noiseless and lightless, the cave was all timeless
Just like the plant dock, but encased in cave rock

Their temperature curves did not change
So humans and plants had some notes to exchange…
--

< II >
People invent fake sunlight. Industry never stops. A timeless, tiring blur of day into night. We sit, pale and caffeinated. A world blinking fluorescent and midnight grey. A modern, diurnal nightmare. Timing battles fought from the inside…

Perched aside the optic nerve
Perfect clock inside the brain
Captured sunlight through the eye
Keeps us synched to night and day
Time and time again

Crossing zones will lead to lags
Clock and earth fall out of step
Difficult to sleep or wake
Model it to count the cost
Measured sleeping debt

Scientists find many clocks
Timing marked out body-wide
Liver, kidney, stomach, skin
Hair and muscle, pancreas
All with clocks inside

Timing cues from inside out
Hormones and adrenal glands
Exercise, consuming food
Drinking, sleeping, changing mood
Moving clockwork hands

    It’s tricky, said the shiftworker
    I’m in a real to-do
    My stomach thinks it’s ten am, my liver, half past two
    My kidneys think it’s yesterday
    My muscles Monday night
    My brain in concert with the earth, keeps timing by the light
    And all I want is sugar and a quiet kiss goodnight

Stomach, head, and heart in flux
Health and safety chrono-shock
Out of synch with social norms
Shiftworkers are precious hands
Pulled around-the-clock

Invisible clocks set with sun-travel springs
A hidden existence in all living things

blooming red and pink tulips
with an underbrush of heliotropes
a vast garden incapable of decay
watered daily with false hopes
under blue shining skies
that can only hope to resemble your eyes

Has anyone ever thought about it?
Maybe; maybe not ...
When will such a thing happen?
Did someone imagine?
The stormy petrel had become a peerless lighthouse
tried to resuscitate the distant stars, dead diamonds
Hours inhale seconds, minutes, moments; exhale orange, metallic, lilac, emerald, carmine and cerulean memories
The antique road, the vintage vehicle disappeared ...
The dusty photos are lost
albeit that album is not empty  ...
Each morning radiates with a radiant beginning
To smell sweet scent it's refreshing
Every day gives new news
Doubtless waiting is endless  ... endless  ...endless ...endless  ...endless .........
Nothing happens out of nowhere
Do not contemn one another
Wait patiently for the future



The flowery nature welcomes the full moon, the vernal equinox
A bunch of raspberries, the daisies ,the snapdragons , the heliotropes are lookers-on
The honey bees buzz softly, the queen bee soars swiftly into the air like a slender sylph
The vibrant views brighten up and beautify the panorama
The real beauty is like a classical drama
Even so, many thingies are blurry and blunt
The pensive, inveterate poet flinched in an unspoken fear
Something hurts, pains the fragile heart