Sunday, March 29, 2009

volatile colors tend to fly out of my eyes as I look up towards the impending light

And while we gently fell into sleep, I vaguely caught the smell of softly transparent days warming into old purple farewells, still glowing away wet smiles on my arms.
These I painted out of watercolors on skies blue and light.

And nothing seemed to change the way our minds poured colors into the air, in clouds and in shapes and in spirals, in shades.
These I painted out of perseverance on little flaws I named embracing names.

Leaning heavily, I sighed in a momentum of massive weight I'm caught sinking under, craving false light of what is no more than an oceanic reflection; And the ocean poured out of my eyes.
These I painted out of smells I clutch, scars on lips, and buried hands in mine.

Sharp ends came to their own, abrupt ones, upon hearing sounds of creation they sang about in dreams. And in terror they faced the destruction of small ideas, the relentless, soundless, cleansing wave of feathers rising up in chests.
These I painted out of what is sang beneath bones and skin.

And finally, a thousand million numbers of tiny existence bid their own farewells, marked by a wall of sound; the taking off of the last surrounding glowing insects, The Song screaming and penetrating from inside their bellies, leaving into all tomorrows they can ever achieve of dreaming; and neither blazing winds howling -claws and nails deep in their grip- nor the wolves in their hearts could ever pull their flight off their utmost route.

These painted me lighter than volatile breaths, blurred in motion, chasing after spiraling structures made of crystal river ripples. I spread my wings; and flew.

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