I was pulled awake from my blue agave dreaming

by a gust of cool air flowing through the screen.

At first, my skin - an independent animal-entity with its own preferences -

stirred suddenly as if to say: You have a visitor.

Then my mind kicked in, with all its strange ways of seeing-and-knowing, and said:

This is what renewal feels like if you seize it.

I didn't.

 

I drifted back into the depths

where all the ghosts, dancing ladies, and old gods gather around a central fire

to tell stories that break all the rules,

crack casting-molds,

and up-end everything with the tip of an ash.

 

 

Coyote puffed on his pipe, smiled, and said: Don't worry. I got this.

 

I say all of this, only to say...

We may be living in the Clown Republic right now,

being run by bozos and spiritual hobos,

but it's a house of cards fashioned on a turtle's back

and come the next good rain, there's going to be a whole lot of shaking going on.


(c) 2017 / Frank Saizan Owen / purelandpoetry.com

 

 

sound: Koichi Sugii

image: Newfoundland-American Arctic explorer Captain Robert Bartlett and local, 1933, Smithsonian. Photograph taken during Arctic expedition for the Invertebrate Zoology Department, Smithsonian 

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