|"For y'all have knocked her up" // Bear Creek 2013|
Crushed lapis lazuli liquified
and then applied in coats on live oak limbs
suspend me in a shifting lens
of life apart from lie. I realize
the hammocks swing
to drive the bassist’s line
and leaking eyes have opened
wide to dilate neural ties.
I peek out nervously
from behind clenched fingers
at a piqued peak, and, roiling,
I roll down the hill and savor grasses
weaving dreads into my curling hair.
So many threads of inner knotting speak
their frantic peace among all my hysterics,
a countenance of bouncing back
and boiling forth between jester and cleric.
Saintly, faintly the flushed faces see
what there ain’t, see what hides
all flustered in the dark, see the lights
of teeming woodlands spark the fire
despite drizzled mist, a bit of lurid flame
reflecting bright the LEDs. We exist
in our realities so fully in these tents,
in the fractal fogs of moonlit discs disclaiming
glowing distance, a fever pitch of black
descending on invited madness.
It saddens me to only see you there
under the undulations of the moon.
I know this moment will be over soon.
A couple came and sat
in front of our intoxicated group.
Not quite sober either, giddy giggling
pressing forehead to forehead,
bowing in praise of carefree youth.
Eventually they left, and we followed suit.