trespassing through a body made up of
jungle leaves, water weeds, fossil prints,
I engender a whole history in me, of rock
archives of gullible paints, of guitar riffs
eternally hovering in layers of time, but
.
then I am a trespasser, just passing by
(though sometimes it seems like a very
long distance, and other times, it is
just so short, like an old pair of socks)
today I am, tomorrow someone else
who would make the skin crawl all over
once again, because cowardice is true
and nothing else, in this banana peel
that you slip over as if its your own life,
that you can hitchhike anytime, I do so
in my dreams finding the end in blood
(fearsome.. ain’t it.. what truth beseeches)
.
I crackle my pale nails of toes, of fingers
that wriggle like an alien creature but I am
as well, (remember) a trespasser, through
life forms, through elements, so to burn
and drown, and ravaged by air, or buried
in the heart of the soil, and still existence
glistens as long as there is a color in me,
as long as I can draw lines, series of circles,
I stay forever, but never when my palette
goes dry, and then I’d whisper goodbye
.
For dVerse Meeting the Bar.
HA's Place 