Today I lay my back
against the broad green oceanic hills
and I think
where are the stripes of fire
that should lie
illuminate between us?
I am heavy with
need and want
to be dancing in the hills
with wild companions,
not,
for this body only
but for the surging green
melee of the world.
I want my desire
to create not a conglomerate
that feeds only itself
but a network
that recreates the wild soul.
Today I lay my back
on the broad bank of oceanic fire
milled by years of white change,
and I think
where are the hands in my hands
to recreate
the old and sluggish burden
of infinity
where is the drawing down
not of
a queen
or a king
that can't survive
his own institution
where is the drawing down
of the moment
between you and I and they
that reshells plenitude?
They say
Cinderella
lost her slipper
because she was late
and hurrying home.
Did it ever occur to anyone
that she was done
with being shod
done with paying
lip service to a ball
that was nowhere near human
when none of them could see
the scales and feathers
on her ribs and hair?
I bet
she wanted to be free
and in that moment
when she left the ballroom
kicked off that golden shoe
just one
so that she could feel
the chalky ground
beneath her feet.
When they found
her by it
what was that?
Capitulation? Accident or love?
I will remember the moment
where she goes barefoot
under the livid lizard stars.
I will re-member,
a time in the soft
forbidden space after
the clock had struck
where,
without a shoe,
she walked the chalky road, laid her broad back
upon the dark, round, oceanic hills
and felt relieved
to be anywhere but there.