When I truly look at a tulip,
I see red for the first time.
When I truly listen to a river,
I hear water for the first time.
When I truly chew on honeycomb,
I taste sweetness for the first time.
When I truly sniff a fire,
I smell smoke for the first time.
When I truly feel fallen snow,
I touch winter for the first time.
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4 Blocks
Not enough bronze bruises these clouds. Pillows embrace peacock feathers, crow feathers, talons, and claws. The knapsack twists into a sack cloth for penance among orange trees. What a strange world, where woods sprout fruit.
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Each panel of sliding doors pictures a portion of the journey. Wings skim crests of waves. Storks glisten and glow over bamboo. Flecks of wanton vermillion spackle lace curtains drawn back by wind or by a ghostly hand.
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Thousands of seedlings bustle in a ball of snapdragons. Without chewing gum stuck to sneakers, there’s no way to pick up ideas. Wacky or wise, these prophetic paradoxes flutter like confetti from flagpoles. Without a secret decoder ring, there could be no answer other than crinoline.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chant dissolves passages in the colony’s labyrinth. Feelers out, hauling huge chunks of sugar, masses converge on the queen. Tunnels promise a rebirth of abundance, instead of a maze among marvels of architecture. Burrowing through moist sand, they meet themselves coming and going, and delight in their sameness and how they resemble one another.
[Disposable Prose October 28, 2009]
Dr. Mike
Every moment is the first time for that moment.
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