“Hold on to your divine blush,
your innate rosy magic, or end up brown.
Once you're brown, you'll find out you're blue.
As blue as indigo.
And you know what that means.
Indigo. Indigoing. Indigone.”- TR
there is a wellspring
somewhere the cats
won't even climb
its lineaments
are not shared with
the characteristics of space
indigo flowers
are always stooping
their heads to drink there
~
sometimes i forget about it
and i take my hammock down
and just cocoon there on the ground
where the chickens are in a pile
in the sun, taking turns
to watch for hawks
but hey! i got bone flutes
i've got to find a way
to play to raise the moon
i got secret cats to track;
reel 'em in with finger magic
and string 'em in the hammocks
i got fox-gloves
to stick my fingers in
or my penis when i'm frisky
i got whole peninsulas to map;
of forests, dunes and grasses
and a millions yellow flowers on top
ah, but i've also got space-time
that jabs my mind
with its endlessness;
with what little of it is left
but o! its nothing; mostly
i got the shape of the sun
to stare at through the fog
and spring water to drink where
the indigo sighs