Flower Famine
Nothing, I see
But,
dandelion blush and smoky Bardot eyes of western wind. Nothing, but McDonalds and cluster flies;
and threats of dry hunger strikes in the streets by blooming worker bees establishing new hives
on a drizzly spring Tuesday.
The ungovernable pitch shards of boulevard glass; rich city diamonds reflectively shine before
slapping across cut faces. Indispensable people, for the overcrowding of cold nations. We are
quick ~ aren't We ~ to paint this colorful world in black and white. Consciously, We,
The Killers of Rainbow Seeds, opt for a virtual fog bow; Advancement, instead of wildflowers and
dispensable from-scratch grandmother meals.
The once shy Black Swallowtail rushed onward,
landing hungrily on my flowery, lime-
green, butterfly-frog button up, hoping for sugary Hawaiian sustenance. The ungovernable wild ~
the only unrecognizable-recognizable place left.
Lightly, I step
Over,
and in-between, cinnamon ferns unfurling, oh-baby-baby-baby maples of seductive navel syrup, blue-
bead lily Of The North ~ thriving nana-yellow, epithet borealis
mountainous-mountain ash, spring-sprung elderberry, plaited moss–braided to new growth
raspberry strands, born
from uprooted hurricane-dropped evergreen spruce.
Bedded, I sweep
Hands,
milky, over delicate Starflowers, plethora-carpeting, as their upper-hand to avoid extinction, like Starling Emerald Hominids, greenery open-face leaves gazing up at the reaches; Stars ~ praying wild eyed to Solaris, for solar flares traveling from storms 151.6 million km away, hidden in the darkness beyond our galactic aquarium. 100-meters away, the slithering Trans-Canada asphalt snake lay
smooth, slick, ready to bite.
Still, I lay
Hidden,
from its poisonous exhaust fangs. A Starflower, pale faced, under Mourning Cloak wings,
peering upward, through patches of just right Goldilocks light brilliance, drifting fiery smog sky
Dead bodies of Giants ~ Balsam Fir, Eastern Hemlock, White Birch ~ bury the well worn path; timbers in their death throes, Lively awakening retro awe ~ Fred Penner wonder, creating childhood mysteries of dark hollow logs to clamber through into Alice's Wonderland. Mr. Dressup Crowns of Sweet Kings, Laurels of archery mastery Beauty Queens from Mother Nature's tickle trunk, still blooming
though–upturned
fed,
by those still standing through the storms.
Folklore medicine, I taste
Yellow,
rocketcress, Scurvy Annihilator, picked
from among discarded roadside garbage–tossed from whipping Helmholtz resonance car
windows; Barbarea Vulgaris, She–who sits spicy on the throne of my tongue
her silver shroom toes tickle my mind
Barbarian Queen, at the back of my erotic mouth, grinding, sensually
between
herbivore teeth
a strip tease rubbing flat molars, which will
forever
be taken for granted, until they are uprooted and spit out into a dry waste ditch.
450-meters away, I hear
Sharp,
crack of a fiberglass baseball bat. An angry coach.
Will they ever come to see this?
A father yells
Do they know it's here?
A child screams impatient Hunger.
Fast, I step
Marching,
for the freedom we have forgotten.
unseen, a vertical piece of rusted rebar buried tight in the earth, trips me up on the ATV trail home.
I smell McDonalds
and Flower Famine.
pick the staples from the classroom clown
Linguistic Moon
Celestial Tongues of Morning Moon, Midnight Sun
whisper to me the odyssey of Maidenhair Trees’ blind mystic secrets under flaming canopies
rise high
Nostradamus of the Balkans
on that unyielding witching solar flare
Baba Vanga
sightless gaze piercing the tapestry of dusk, of eternal reward dawn
Baba Yaga
blaze ancient light lore along the convex of Luna’s wax and wane cyclic ballet.
wiccan lace-sleeved enchantress
Stevie Nicks ~ ‘saw my reflection in the snow-
covered hills, 'til the landslide brought me down’;
sonic ocean muse
Lana Del Rey ~ ‘once you told me, look
for the north star, then you'll see’;
Nico
Seer of These Days ~ ‘please don't
confront me with my failures, I
had not forgotten them’ ~ Lady Bonfires
of singing ink-sweetened parchment
of incantation, of spellbound
allure, femme fatale flesh ~ Fire
will not Silence your Golden Hour
Dance.
my moon sister asked
How many languages do you speak?
a symphony of split tongues spilled forth deviled nectar ~
~ I speak the language of Tree Whispers echoing in the shade; the bee’s honeyed tooth &
in blackberry lips clashing in battle.
in blind eyes of feminine hex unseen, unworshipped
in visions of Lady Chronic Empath; sand grains falling from shaken dream hair, reaped
by spiders weaving Fate on a Fedora
webbed symbols of indecipherable intricacies of destiny.
I speak in pretty drugs, elegant alcohol
throat releasing steamy silk smoke Bowmore
interpreter of dehydrated green-skinned moonshine stained face
wide-eyed lustful clipped-winged pixies of the fabled Northern Still Snows earning sage feathers
~ earth foraged, forged by ember speaking Druids in Moonbeam Streams.
I speak in tangerine dreams painted with flickering lantern soothsaying light from inside a spruce
limb crushed Westfalia rusted under the gravity of hedonistic revelry.
I speak in moans against vibration producing kicking life
the dialect needed to caress coiled snake highways and pave them smooth.
I speak with Nor’easters, as they lay down thick crystal blankets of warm permission to hibernate.
hollow-face illusion, reality tinged with schizophrenic hues of occult night
I speak in soundless kinesics transcending linguistics
swirling within the kaleidoscope of languages, and there, churning oil slick into all the tonal colors,
casting witches' spells ~ is Wild Love, spun
into the vernacular of symphonic existence chasing the sun
between asphalt ruptures of dandelion rebellions - resilience roars!
calling to arms sprouting vines creeping under, and bursting through, faded bungalow siding - resist
annihilation!
Stubborn Yellow ~ pursuing the never-ending heat of Radiant Freedom
ever weaving
ever thriving
sur-viving
ever Speaking ~ in emerald unfolding calyx tongues.