Tuesday 4 August 2015

lilac and hues. and drops

I painted my nails lilac and went out to say hello to the sycamore trees and the killer bees, and when I touched the sky, the paint proceeded from my fingertips to join the morning hues, creating a colorful pageantry of blues, inside of which found my eyes blinking half the time, dropping salt and water and searching for my daughter in the clouds. I wondered why the flags were half mast today in California, and I don't really wanna know. I listened to some jazz and got a real good rhythm for my spirit, all I had to do was hear it beyond the usual channels superficial on the land, to the deep sea ones carved beyond the hands of man. Arthritis in one finger reminded me I will never be all right, and the essence of my imperfection helped me sleep last night with one cat curled up around my calf, the other making an orange drop upon the blanket. Gore Vidal was in my dreams, up there with the gods and fighting with his mother. She wasn't happy with his books, you see. Drunk as usual.

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