My Terrain Is A Slow Moving Dream
My terrain is a slow moving dream. I am on a collision course with the clouds. My stomach is the frog that sings. My rage is a night storm. My eyes are in your eyes. Your eyes are in my own. The butterfly drove her wings into me. Summer moved inside me like a mood. My mind was a season. My dog's tail was the rudder. His ears were the sails. I navigated the lawns like oceans. The sand built houses upon my cheeks. The wind blew straight through my chest. I was nothing. You were movement. You are as faceless as the winter. We hold up trees together. When you walk beside me, we are moving objects, in eternal time. The brick fence is a secure boundary. It separates two endless realities. The rain is taste. The cemetery is sound. The food is a block that I swallow. My insides are hollow. I am a staring fish. A rock in a sunken pond. You say I belong in a laboratory. I look through you like an alien. The stars are my closest neighbours. I was focused on the light behind your face. I feel the furniture crying. I was your halo. But you did not know an angel had touched you. |
