orange red

Fish bowl view
of fiery skyline horizons
electricity and explosion
capped with starlit calm
this light won’t be photographed

I see the stars from here
these pyrotechnics won’t be filmed

I imagine the movement in these words
these dances won’t be choreographed

I sense the misplaced dishonesty
these stories won’t be documented

I hear myself in this Aquarian song
this song won’t be recorded

I vibrate with these Caribbean beats
this rhythm will not be contained

I feel the altitude from up here
these heights will not be measured

I listen to the stories in these journeys
this tourist won’t be accidental

I resign myself into these unknowns
this race will not become an exile

I designate places for all these things
this complexity will not grow simple

I taste the life pumping through my veins
this hunger won’t go unsatisfied

I touch the piano keys without precision
that tune will never cease to haunt

I count the hours in the days
this schedule will never find its match

I plot my path and scheme my conquests
this map will not be charted

I take deep breaths to find things here
these lungs won’t shrink in cowardice

I wrap myself in orange-red viscose
these winds won’t ever stop their blowing.

© 2010