Los Ojos Verdes
Static images are entrenched into my neural bank
The vibrations shift the view of the greatroom
Tree trunks become shifty legs
And I'm off again
Soaring with the unheralded wisps of forgotten letters
And the dust clouds of fallen steeples
The shaman in the sagebrush moves with lightning precision
Leaving behind only the fluttering of air
Nothing sacrosanct to shelf or levitate
Only the knowledge of existence to ponder
The sun has ejected a spiral solar flare
That licks a polarized face
And while taking it all in
I see the inner workings of the atoms within the eye of the beholder
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