bursts of orange

Animal sheets toppling over with stubborn books and lonely socks fighting to hold the world together with pritt glue and cello tape. Dry eye one girl crusades in mango trees and dictionaries. Crisp white sheets in long wooded rooms that soak up cold water mornings greeting impossible sunrises. A green cage chattering with broken winged grey cockatoos Green stripped sheets Harbor a fervor like a sickness. Eager Fanta bubbles always rising always racing. Orange flares against loved skies, skies clouded with lame sheep and potato chips. Star patterned sheets Drenched in hopes and overnight mascara revolving doors littered with change rattling already nauseous nerves. Going around in vertigo dresses worn to a hopeful uncertain exit.

Droplets of myself. Coloured. Tainted. Falling all around me. I know not the fantasy from the reality In being boundless I am still half-caste My desires, world, truth. Blended… Droplets of myself. Coloured. Tainted. I think therefore I am? No, I feel therefore I may be… That’s what the ripples in the puddle forming at my feet glisten back at me Catching the light to convey their thoughts The ripples in my glow, mind, flow Blended… Droplets of myself. Coloured. Tainted. I stand in myself as I pour around me Seeking to discern what is me and what is ME What is mine and what is lent to me? My something new, borrowed, blue. Blended… Droplets of myself. Coloured. Tainted. I stare into my version of the sun Maybe it’s the glare But once in a drop I see a different colour and taint My snowflakes. In the midst of me,   there is ME Bursting forth to remind me, Of the ME before here I was whole before I was made whole I am b...

Traded for Aztec gold, I chose my currency. I chose beads and mirrors. Swarthy coverings, singing boxes, clinking stones. Paisley shifts, silk bindings, painting sticks. Iridescent fulfillings of my present. My comeback to unfair deductions made in haste, Measured against unveiled mounds and softness. I chose beads and mirrors. Twinkling fireflies, endless folds, warming scenes. Flashing neon, sleek purrings, dizzying heights. Crisp caricatures of wonderland. Judgement doesn’t live here. Left on a mound of dust at Uhuru (freedom) park, Modest skirts billowing I chose beads and mirrors. Black lacquer, soap stone, flowered valleys. Wisp lace, fertility chains, up done tresses The open embrace to a lap of luxury. Tiptoes swinging a sing song of lust, A song of swallowing whole, A feasting of life to music. I chose beads and mirrors.