As haunted below, I offer my soul, for the skies above once again have left me
to defend on my own.
A cliff above your violent waves to keep me breathless and blue.
I’ve become a haunted memory— a part of you.
Come, ocean tides, sweep me under your
breathless waves of delight.
I am many people.
My amorphous identity defended by multi-headed Hindu Gods
relinquished to the speculative distance between your censorious interpretations and my own mythical representation.
Each face bespoken to indulge your palate;
I am a potent cocktail of stirred spirit selves, giving you the heady rush you need to swallow me.
A doorway to you,
starry coat of velvet dark.
Dim the lights and dream.
I have so much love
bottled up inside me
just yearning to get out
that my heart is bleeding
into the palms of my hands.
“For I have seen,
The ruins of a grand temple,
hidden now amongst groping vines;
Under a canopy thick with green.
“Further North, a basin rests,
With a beast at its heart.
Through the mist, I caught its scream,
As its three spider limbs scrabble in the dark.
“If only I was done, for Mt. Bonochi tires,
Facing an army of clouds, and relentless rain…”
And the story went on; but little did the listeners know,
The temple remained unseen, and the beast in the mist unslain.
Closing this book before it begins would be a tragedy, so we keep re- reading
our lines, repeating what we know is right.
When I’ve fallen close to the ground you keep me floating. How long ‘til you
give in? My heart can’t emerge from below
the ground if you don’t fight for new soil.
Mud dries, pages loosen.
This story starts with you and me.