3 POEMS draft

draft

She said, become the antelope
In the first days, in the very first days,
Purple and magenta were one thing.
Purple and animals were one thing 

but the antelope were strange people.
The young men, they who first saw the antelope, 

they fell in love, 

they fell from a great height.
They fell from grace 

and sanity fled on spindly legs,
Antelope, part wind, part bird,
They raced across the plains

I left I felt my face become long 

with shadows and lightning, 

the wind washing my body

and the birds, they sang of distant places.
They called to me, a siren call, 

irresistible magic.
It was the best of times
It was the worst of times
It was a time of wind and sorrow, 

and madness was a flower 

on the plains of forgetfulness.

10/11/14

Prathro's workshop

CPITS

The egret lifts its fans 

nuptial plumes, 

feathers of snow 

among the toyon berries, 

white to red, sine curve of neck, 

impossible doubled back on time, 

an eye of paleness, 

tender leaves 

inspired
a beak inside the sun of fire.

10/11/14

Prathro's workshop

CPITS

I should be going to workshops
I should be taking photos
But I'm so very tired of people, 

of being on, I was stepping in 

and out of people's lives and rooms.
It's Sunday morning, 

is the freeway never quiet?
I miss the days of stillness and solitude, 

where the mechanical world 

wasn't ever present.
Generations have grown up 

with this industrial noise of progress.

10/11/14

Prathro's workshop

CPITS