Horizontal freefall

My roots have detached themselves from my toes.
Trees howl at my feet,
and silence fills my pockets.

I know it will die soon.
It’s the silence before the sound of insane movement.

A caravan tastes the air outside my home.
The sight of yesterday’s moon is fading in my head.

Beyond the waterfall,
a dog has befriended a monkey
and is learning to dance like him.

The monkey needs a new pastime.

The minstrel stitches up a new song
while a few eyeballs sit on the couch making mechanical love to the television.

Somewhere in a park,
runners hum tunes to the rhythm of bouncing feet.

Butterflies script their songs on stamens,
their quivering wings looking out for predators
while their feet bury themselves in nectar.

I am climbing the rainbow one colour at a time.
I am also learning to split the wind.

When I am tired, I jingle words collected in a jar.
I love to hear their sounds as they crash into each other.
Sometimes their offspring sound like music.

Then I pick a word,
toss it across the river,
and watch it bounce several times on the face of the water.

I think it is happiest
when it skips forward
without worrying when it will sink.

Even though it has to sink.


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