Migrant piece 1

July 14th, 2020

Revolution starts in the moss where the

smell of the spirit is accurate

Rolling on the mountain with your

ass feet back and knees

The sky is open over the rocks

used by sheep to hide from the sun

Even the most gentle of beasts need

some darkness for a change

Fucking laughable the eye is to the horizon

but cares not to emit a sound

just let the wind pass

You look for a ditch to have a smoke

not necessarily a cigar

but something to remind you of a victory

After countless losses

you deserve one quiet

One time of minimal movement

while sheep bell the intervals

between one root or another

Berries in red on the floor made of void

or something approaching the night

with its star crossings

There a dwarf, a giant

 and a colossus of sorts

In distance that your feet dare not measure

stone falls making a thud

You listen as if to hear the enciphered message

but the folly of it catches up before

any sense comes to mean

Contracted back into the tiny space

you occupy

Invisible to the far aboves

you make a gesture

Guest neither invited nor off the list

you inhale the scent of blueberry leaves

Which is not much but so is

the volume of your heart

Though fast, thus potentially

ripe for openings

Scattered in grass moss and waters

I am so that my enemies can

never recognize me

My skin on the stones, bark

and juniper needles

So I can ever feel and be felt

by the loved ones

I think of rolling off the mountain

while becoming a rock

Under which in a year or two

there’d start growing all the red caps

In the dark of the night

befriended by moths, slugs and ants

I dream of a god so chaotic that

it makes my innards sing

Having never known its name I wash

my feet in morning dew

Prepared for movement one way or another

I inhale the odors sun offers

My eyes infected by bright blue

come to rest on a lichenous stub

The silence in my head weighs like stones

washed on the river bank

I inspect my skin for no other reason

but its existence

Bits of breeze lost in the

hairy parts

The smile extends further than the jokes

collecting the warmth

left in abundance

By the goddesses that superseded

the gods

Who fell stupid on the guillotine

Centuries of wails echoing among the leaves

that refuse to rot

Panic of those who lost their riches

Courage of those tough in their faith

Paths walked till the heels feel as bone

Tears wiped finger tips softer than rain

Wither the state of trampled convictions

There’s no prisons among animals

no matter the blood

Typing machine resting on the bottom

of dried up lake

Fish that swim back to the ocean

Waves of resistance gather into a tsunami

rolling slow giving birth

To places and time uncounted and

encountered in adventures

Of which I am a witch and I burn

my sins in a fire at noon

Smoke rises over the mountain

and I signal the clouds

‘Bout the tasks close ahead, of the ways,

far away

I hear a sound of approaching quiets

that may hide undiscovered desires

I store few samples of it into a jar

may be opened when back in the works

The job of the jobless is to trail

the truths of declassified vissions

Moving on the sand

as the mountains decay

Half an inch in millenium

so when they reach the cities and towns

It won’t become their demise

but the futures

I dream of which a lot and know very little

but so does every spring

before it autumns

And starts falling on the lakes,

tracks and barren fields

Infesting the village, the town and metropolis

The breath of the blood of the mountains

Cuts deep into the lungs of

workers, the servants and their masters

Dogs howl and cats hunt for the zebras

Dome of the heaven descends so low

That it makes it stupid to wish on the stars

In this jolly chaos you can hear

the revolutionary songs spreading

from the wilderness

You can’t make out the instrumentation,

the lyrics or the scope of its scale

So you sing along hoping for

it to last enough that it can

aqcuire a name

In the meantime you’re happy

you’re not alone

Walking the freedom to the distance

of a mad one

One heart one soul one spirit

One gut and many treats to feel it with

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