The Hot Place

How did you learn to look at the sky?
Did the beauty evolve or is it intrinsic?
I think you were born under diamond locked boxes
And red lacquer ceilings that gave you the vision

 

And small twinkling lantern lights
With perfumed access precision
Were lit with the oils of sandalwood cedars
As the wind of the west was galloping eastward

 

To sigh wings of feather rustling over gold wishes

 

Melting like a shower of water rushing

 

Did it careen into you like the afternoon sun?
Does it caress like the fur on silken mittens?
When did you know that you emitted vibration
Like legs sliding between temperate mission?

 

Or metallic smooth silver cricket lace iridescence
On wheat yellow harvested fiery red haystacks
When did it call to you and say it was smitten?
From crystal blue wonders of S curves triangles

 

Plastically dazzled without fear of tool try outs
Not worried to recall the padlock combination
Of morning bell ringing alarm crested pencils
And dewdrops still clinging to frosty tall grasses

 

Like notepaper flipping not wanting to crumble
The intimate message encrypted in scripto
Did you gaze out the window with checkered institution
Wanting to chew on the rocks past the fission?

 

Were you distracted by the call to kick up the flowers
And the glow I see still so silvery gleaming
To get to the quick breath air gasping push longing
Of hot flowing time stopping atmosphere making?

Nov.20 2002