Weekend
Walkabout
*
Remote Wilderness
and his estranged wife, Jane, watch me from the tree-line as I drink down the
warrior moon. One sinful bite of a yesterday dipped in a whispered Jordan. Mind
pox shrunken like voodoo heads that wag hello from the forbidden hut, but
still, the psychic itch remains. Skyscraper stepchildren sink into the ocean of
green forever. I will miss the eyes in their lights. Here, nothing familiar to
hold. Nothing unsavory to hide. Just red feet over white sands and a dial tone
sunrise that refuses to sleep. My prayers seem fuzzy lately. The headman says
that, out here, it’s best to use a drum.
**
Waltz my
muddy river to creamy cleanliness. A spirit bird preened to shadowy perfection
calls me onward. An upright serpent salesman with no official name tries to
sell me damaged fruit from a gunny sack. I’m hungry, but too poor for a fancy
meal. I’ve stolen dewberries from the under-gods while they were arguing about
the shape of my journey. I hope they’re impressed with my cunning.
***
Soon, I
will toss my hatchling soul from the red mountaintop, and hope it is ready to
fly. Otherwise, I’ll be home in the morning in time to get ready for work.
Please leave the leftovers in the fridge in case I’m not as mystical as I’d
dreamed. These deep noises from the crags seem to have teeth. I’ll call you
back after they’re done eating me.