Writings from Walleye #4 9/15/2013

 

art by Morgaine Faye 

 

I writhe beneath your gaze, the fierceness of your black, animal eyes singeing the hair on my body.  The leaves crunch beneath me on the forest floor, my head rests on a bed of moss.  In the darkness I hear small footsteps as little lives scurry past my ears, I hear the insects as they work their way through the soil.  I open my chest to you, offering up my heart and other precious organs.  Suddenly, my mouth is flooded with the taste of iron, your muzzle stained red as I am devoured and fall further into the gentle arms of the Earth.

 

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Once, I slept as a mountain, dreaming through many thousands of years.  Pieces of me carried South with the water, pieces of me carried North with the wind.  Every cloud and star had a name that left my head upon waking.  The Sun was my day skin and the Moon my night.  Hunters made their homes deep within me.  I was never still but instead the whole of me followed gently and passively the steady tumble of the rest, through the void.

 

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The winds held us aloft until we had come to the desert. We drifted off to sleep to strange and unfamiliar bird cries, not quite a caw but something similar.  As we slept, the sands scoured our skin away, leaving only bones, the wind making instruments of us as it sang and whistled it's way through the cage of who we were.  The darkness grew and we were no longer there.  We were the blackness between, a blanket for the stars to rest in.

Writings from Walleye Vol. #3 7/15/13

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There is an ache in my shoulders from breaking trees.  The muscles pulled tight from the rise and fall.  My legs still shakey with the energy of last nights tremblings.  And all this time I was a ghost, haunting familiar terrain, where I shouldn't have been.  In sleep, I have been aware of a warm, black presence that is in my heart but that I am only given seconds to caress.  Death and sleep being so similar that sometimes the threshold blurs and you can float back and forth and find a true love dwelling there.

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What would happen to a flower, if it chose not to bloom?  To not uncurl and show it's center, the truest reflection of the sun.  How would it dance with the breeze, a shy partner hiding itself in the corner of the room, hoping it's singular magnificence goes unnoticed?  A subtle shift is all it needs to open up and become that living thing it was meant to be, a golden heart at the center of a stem.

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A Three Lined Score
1.  The sun hits it's zenith and instead of continuing West, returns East.
2.  There is a zoo and it is on fire.
3.  A hummingbird sipping nectar from a flower, freezes and falls dead.

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A Sea Wall That Longs to Break
1)  Why does it want to break?
2)  What will happen when it breaks?
3)  How will the breaking impact it's surroundings?
4)  What will the wall be after it breaks and is no longer a wall?
5)  What function will it serve in it's new form?
6)  Will it miss being a wall?
7)  Does it understand that once it isn't a wall, it can never be the same wall again?
8)  Do any of these questions even matter to the wall?

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