midnight meditation

I have a sunrise in my skull.

Silver sparks rain down from all that is good,
Fighting the smog,
Whizzing a little too fast through the
Ozone layer,
Into my scalp, into the bones.
Fireworks of unknown origin.

My voice is sky blue.

My mid-afternoon chest is a window.
I pull the green love of the world in through its
Panes (its pains) –
The bits I can find.

The earth feeds me its purple
Murky roots of

My knees fold pink
My arms are liquid –
The ocean tide sloshing toward shore,
Then still in the evening sunset.

I have been living in a world where
I throw my grass seed into the wind and
Watch it disappear.

But somewhere, somehow,
In the middle of this
Belly of a star-gazing
A swinging vine
Curls its way into my ribs
Reaching from sternum to spine and beyond.

And when I return from a visit to my
Hollow, air-filled eyes,
I find a mass of green
So thick I can scarcely breathe:
Weeds, jungle, lettuce, palm.

The window swings free
Toward the sea of my arms,
The loam of my feet.

The vine trails beneath moonlight,
and I follow it to you.

A gasp. A sigh.
Come up for air.

You take my hand, and
Fountains of silver pour down, again,
From Saturn, perhaps, or further –
Expanding around us into orbiting rings of

Color upon
Color upon


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