my night and day has always been outside the doxa… seemingly an eyeliner extending to the base of my ears… a space catching stares, swaying my bandana with ease… my torn wings, my limping genus in my own designed park… licking my own injuries, thinking not about the injuries but how the injuries execute to its bows.
in poetries, it isn’t the substance but how that substance is sculpted from words to a language… in music… it isn’t the song but how the song is sung… in a dance, it isn’t the dance but the the graceful body delicateness of the dancer… in love, it isn’t what words are uttered but the warmth intensity of breath.
i do not patronize sounds nor the daze-crazy traffic clogs of attention, softly i will just change lane… a quiet sifting of music, where hardly i wouldn’t notice i have aged.
“sometimes i enjoy the leisurely stroll, my eyes wander, my soul in total eclipse with my spirit, luego… allí mi corazón cae en una trampa, a strange love-trap: it develops, expands, hurts, and leaves!”
O i fall in love so easily and so often, i pain i hurt i cry, yet i would persist on same Atopos, is it love that is wrong or is it the type characteristic that is twistedly deformed.
my pair of eyes… my only jewel
facets of multi lapis lazuli tints
pin on my amorous imprisonment…
cold wind hot wind
raindrops chilling hails
and many six-legged stings
all these non-stop tempests,
hovering over my fragile face
yet, only vision of atopos insists.
my love has been defined described
wild pickle uncertain wily flirt
yet i exonerate my atopos to no end
am i focus or unfocused
mad or clever or my lapis lazuli
is diluted prostituted by poison ivy
that, i can’t detect a green from red
ahhhhhhhhh…that i fall in love
too often too soon, but the same atopos.
contemplative thoughts by: Mealan Koia Sydney tuesday 5:07pm 09 may 2017 sydney