Herbs hang to dry. Candles. Crystals. Tarot. Material objects enticing me to play and see and taste. I collide with the realms of life and death. Guilt pleasure pain on a wooden stool.
Sit at the bar. Drink the spirits of the north and warm the pulsating rhythm.
I Drip wet with desire to feel the textures of cultures. I see in my minds eye the pathways to astral travel. Travel on globe. Serendipitous exposures and wandering feet. Dancing on the sidewalk. Naked. In the rain. In the storm. Under the shade of a tree.
Patience, beckons the moon in my jubilant ear. I am ripening.
I want to attract the honey bees and let them feast on my sweet nectar. Golden bliss.
Tickle the ladybugs toes.
Dance on a leaf and sway to the drum and bass.
The chapters within a lifetime keep me caressing the joy of expression. I lick words and photograph the insides of movement within the body.
Sit on a toadstool and melt into the puddle beneath.
Seep into the ground, my friend and find the hollow earth.
Creatures of coalescing forms illuminate the pathways as moonlight on water reflects her presence. I go here at night following the trails of incandescence.
Separation: the rainbow engulfing the stream. Coffee suitors. Journal compadres. I ignite the berimbao with the beat of her heart in my hand and squeeze sweet life into her stale eyes.
Circular voices rise and fall and rise and fall and call and respond.
The pressure of gravity echoing their cadence through my bone. Blood, build me a river.