Saturday, 6 September 2014


Am I here to quarrel, grieve, dance, Co-create, capitulate, commiserate, confiscate, commemorate, collaborate, with self, with other/s, with self-ing, with other-ing?

AM-ing in the immense chasm of the heart's constant kinship of crying, carving, clawing, craving, caving, creeping, sailing, willing flight. Grope. Grope. Grope. And glee-filled. A kite a-flight. And what is my "fight," in a land of de-light (West Indian accent for "the light). Mangoes and mantras and meandering down stony trails that now know the soles of my soul-ing. Scintillating screeches and cawing of exquisite Crows.

Am I here for I with Eye, because an I with an Eye makes the whole world see? Am I here to be lost, to be found, to be mad, to be sound? Sounding, sounding, sounding the Sea for She wills it so. Wild wind outside my window, while I plant care for my housemate. Green voices speak here in my room, "We may or may not die. And you are not our keeper, simply our sister-ing sleeper."

A new day's dawning.  

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