A Pumpkin and a Cabbage

February 27 — Full Moon

Intoxicated, wishing the Word would spill right out of me before I laid my head to sleep on the pillow. Blankets caressing my body, supple and naked under clothes of blue, waves. The Blue…. always charging me with lapsing breath and raves. The underneath of space or the hinderance of light under my forehead. The eyes circling around the wrist. Dancing figures breathtaking and alive.

A pumpkin and a cabbage create rituals of passage into another dimension. Traversing the galaxy with colors contrasted by attitude.

Pause.

Mixing substance. Entranced by the blindness which befell my experience. Temporary darkness; willingly exploited to sense the world in a different manner. A companion and voice carried across space. Tactility augmented and sound elevated to a non-disclosed vibration; location. Salt and ginger in my hand. Searching for the ice cream stolen by the spirits of eyes and deceit. Little hops and giggles heard through gateways and doors. Passages, carpet hairs on ice cream not washed; spit out and cleansed. Returning to the world of vision; eyes open again.

Someone took a bite of the cabbage. The moonlight powers madness; something of which only the silhouette of a crochet dick hanging under the orb of light can dispel. Made of wool… made with magic. High heels and tap dancing on rugged strands of time. A slap of tortilla in the face. Melted cheese, beans, chicken, guacamole, chipotle and green salsa as a preamble to the night.

Everything fades… the outside still as ice. People dance now with slumberous wake… flickering eyes and slow breaths on couch. Three mirrors; lime, yellow, purple.. A red car; intently observing the mechanism of solitude. Unaware of being watched. Eyes peeking through window stains.

Is he calling the police? Good night.