Clearer Canopies

The expanse and canopy above

Have grown wider again.

I’m faced with a choice to ascend

On vines that smell like burning hair

In the likeness of golden metaphors

I’ve hoarded in my time.

 

I want to liberate like the heroes I’ve learned of.

It’s time to think about my own

Post-Colonialist

Love Song.

 

It’s time to learn to pluck the places from my dreams

And project their impossibility into real life.

It’s time for my subconscious to find its

Partner in flesh, blood, and equal pace.

It’s time to sculpt the gems of who I want to be

To place in the crown throbbing in my veins.

 

Hiatus Kaiyote. Sergio Medina. Miyazaki and so many more.

To finally learn to wear the clothes revealing my true self.

I thought my journey had completed for now,

But an impass has formed itself.

 

At the end of a ragged and brutal 4 months,

I’ve helped bury my grandmother in deed and word.

My form has grown sleek, colder.

I’ve learned to withstand.

 

And now in this month, I will flourish.

It’s time to set myself into pace.

Objects higher than mortal pleasures await.

May I hang this poem on my eyelids

So my direction never becomes obscured.

Let’s start with the Celestine Prophecy.

 

12/16/16

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