Part 1: The Riddle
There was a quickening, like when birds
land
On a soft branch, and the tree tickled,
hastens a blush
Through leaves dancing suffused with the
richness of rain
A quickening, my blood feeling as if
thunder is
Caught in its current, small explosions of
a boiling so
Thick I need to hold on to a post that is
not there
My hands catching air, hot, wet, particles
from the belly
Of huge machines that huff and puff and
blow the clouds away
There was a quickening, like when you stare
at
Something so bright for so long, pain
shoots up like
A bullet, up through that tender spot in
your brain
Causing a bursting forth of colours in
psychedelic proportions
As if you’re dead but not really dead
A quickening, a precipitation of tremulous
sweat, heart-stops,
Eye-pops, soft mind-booms, rapid
fire-breath overlapping
Enfant terrible and sprite, hellion and luminary
A hastening of masks, one after the other
As if I was there, when I was not
As if I was absent, but in truth
I was
I am
Everywhere.
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