Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Pickled tink

She disrobed, dropping her grey cloak to the horizon,
the water lapped upon her fertile hips,
the branches of her embrace glistened in our sunlight,
the undulations of her form spreading out beneath me as I fell from the sky,
the soft hills and the dark meaningful valleys
the alighting of multi-coloured fireflies along her breathing coastline with evening's fall
and I slipped into the primal, cold waters within reach,
stretching to caress,
my heart racing,
my breathing rapid,
in translucence and in azure dreams
I met Sweet City Seattle, mistress of my now.
I lie inside her tonight.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

My Empire, tied to a chair

Lord Mangestu, with your hands behind your back,
staring out a cold window, lined with yellow and red ochre tones,
an earthy confinement,
it's time to slip them off.
You see, don't you, the harkening branches of late winter trees
that are to carry you strongly into the dark sky,
where the stars will rewrite your history.
You can step outside the hollow palace with vaulted ceilings,
into the thin, biting air.
What the road holds who can tell,
but let it unfold its story.
Start walking.
Your captors never were,
you are alone and all-powerful,
with the power to fly and the capacity to cage yourself.
Things are fickle, because you flit from momentary self to self.
Chew through cast iron and run!