Fire, the sun setting into nowhere, once again disappearing. I want to chase her, fly in her path around the world. Remember to wrap your heart in sand. I want to chase the sun, I want to prevent my heart from bursting or covering in sand slowly transforming into glass, scattering. The sun is fire and blood, the sun is gas, the sun is a chemical reaction, the sun is life, a paradox, a truth in each and every one of us. A sun in my chest, a sun in your chest, waiting as we ponder upon time and why it leaves us.
Today I walked around with my head turned inside out, words emerging on the outside, stories forming themselves, detatching and flying away. In the forest I plucked down my heart from the tree tops and caught sunlight on film. I found a tree full of nails. Golden, thick blood peered out through the holes, the tree turning itself inside out to save what was left. There I was, breathing, between fresh snow and bleeding trees and narrow paths and choices. Wings are being glued together while birds sing somewhere in the naked trees. The soil is soft and brown, absorbing. There are so many things left unsaid, undone. The protecting cloak surrounding me - I have to live my legend.
The pressure of rocks. Exploding into dust, into air, like the way people eat each other with their naked eyes - and eyes are going to dissolve and float out into the endless universe. Collect dust and moonbeams and watch generations go by. I try to distance myself - wrap my heart in something soft and warm and put it on a shelf somewhere. I want to mend broken humans but I can´t.
The world rushes past and still it is oh so silent; to dance ballet without touching the ground and scream underwater - the party has just begun. Umbrellas on the run. I want to reach that place where tears become pearls. A million X-factors and I am bored, excited, perhaps tired of my own head. Robots on march and enough stars in the milkyway to cover an eternity. So why should I care, some days are nothing but fragments of stardust.
There are scratches on the back of the mirror. Compromises make you strong. The wind erases and nothing is what it seems - it is better. Paint, I will paint an ocean of dreams.
Sunshine raining. It is one of those silent days when your skin touches the sky and when rooftops sigh at the bottom of your glass. I have found a place unlike anything I have ever seen before, true to eyes and true to soul. Bumblebeeless air, like fluttering eyes when someone talks fast, with small words.
Where am I. Traveled through mountains and towns and cities, left myself at home and brought only a shell with me, a shell to fill with sea. When you reach a certain point, there is no going back, or going home. It is you and you only. Where do you find yourself when every spot on earth is your home? You connect between the external and the internal and your body is the battle ground and the haven. You look down from above.
Chocolate eyes and marble. The world spat me out and the atlantic lounged along with the twirling of my heartbeats. This life is exotic moonbeam is dying magnolia is old birdsong in thick woods. Like eyes and my floral shirt and dreams when you sleep under five blankets and without seeing the sun. Clouds in my coffee echoing, stones in my pocket, soft. Skin growing thick in the cup. Backpacks arriving, trains of thoughts departing.
Drops of chocolate on the plate, it is pretty. Because the dark brown on the pearly white is heart on snow, like a mirror, like a life. The sea of words comes crashing in - now is the time by the river and the song, song in your feet. Cover up spilled chocolate, cover up your egyptian face.
Infinite days thicker than the nile and white laundry in the wind against the tile. Life becomes real - it can be frightening and more naked than a morning. Disintegrating like everything else, like magnolias. Inside out, external/internal, kernels and spots on the sun.
How does the table turn and the world spin, how do the trees know when to make flowers. I do not know how to grow nails but they do, I do not know how to form words, but they appear. It is time and it is the other side of you.
Heavy rain and drums and then a ladybird, a nightingale and a bucket of water, alone in a parking lot, waiting. Being there like a sparrow, underwater, inhaling. Blood and bones and bracelets. Blurred with rain. I saw a lighthouse, decided to stay and found things. It turns out trees are not green for nothing. Silence through the night. You know there are loads of different clouds in the sky and ways of telling. I sat down and looked for trees in the sky wearing the meaning of life around my wrist. When you sit on the ground you can see the sky passing by and a lot of time, going home. When the birds inside are gone.
Then we suddenly hear something that sounds like suns growing. We feel and we eat the sun - I watch you from afar. Every second everything is in order, the trees will show the way. Feels like August, touching hearts; windless dark nights swallow the old, some things need to die. Everywhere suns are growing - and peaches and lilies and rotten strawberries make butterfly love.
Smiles and decay are the same, are waves reborn into eternity forever washing secret shores. Cheekbones resting in the grass, eyes mumbling, arms stretched.
Waves crashing ashore, it is a new country and a new dream. We know nothing but we are dreamers as we read yesterdays news. I wander. I walk the paths I find. I listen to a song and hear a scream. Screaming ladybugs, screaming me, take away the endings climbing a jacaranda tree.
Watching polar bear clouds pile up on the horizon. Reminders of arctic sea currents. Soon. Pale haze and fog putting lakes to sleep. Soon, before you know it, icy afternoons will be eating frozen leftover blueberries in the forest. Harvest; yellow carrots, blackberries, apples and plums. Improvising oranges. Eating sunshine.
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