A Bit of Lurid Flame

"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.