no(w)here

WORLDWIDE | Thursday, 7 June 2007 | Views [214]

i can see my fingerprints still blowing about on weathered grains of sand the pressure of my feet continuing to echo through centuries of solid rock pressing undiscovered fossils further into forgetting i can see my eyes still boucing off the memories of black children a foreign shade of blue, blinding the familiar continuing to ask such simple questions that exponentially answer themselves with more mystery i can see my dreams still dangling from the starkly skybound branches of a baobab tree wandering into too many worlds that have yet to create a language other than sleep waiting for my lucid return so that i may teach them how to interpret their own dual nature we are made of gravity and goats of the accidents of our own intuition and the unaccustomed tradition to dig through the physics and the psychics and the mystic of our own roots and i am still tapping the untasteable syrup from that forest of arid ancestry where the only thing absent is my senses

Tags: poetry

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