Translucent is the color of the day
Clouds with silver membranes rolling the city
into conical streams of beetle leaves
A Palm tree freezes in the wind
And another, and another, another carrying another
A palm tree freezes in my eye, its skeletal leaves
parting the drowsiness of a reduced retina
All air is rushing, hurtling, vertebrae clinking, knuckles
making rounds, whirlwind, triangles of levitating light
All air is rushing through chasms of ugly skin,
borrowed skin, departed skin, beloved skin
I pluck the sheen of dilapidated light
Burn my face in its warmth
Orange rising along the nose
An incense of a dream
A dream, old and frail, loose shards of skin
A dream building like residue
in this concave body, in the fallow shades of limbs
Flitting rapidly in the solid crust of these dangling fists
A gathering whisper,
Loud and clear, stamps on my whitened chest
Leeks of truth staining pale skin, cherry blossoms forming
A dream of the truth, of truth in her warm glowing flesh
Halos in the cheek, discs and bubbles
Of knowledge dispersing, tumbling down my arteries,
The Ganges on a free day.
