Life's journeys: Language, culture, communication

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Soaked in flames

it’s raining.

it’s raining damp juicy rock ballads into my soul

in through my lips out through my mouth

like cradles for the coiling vapors of my vast, feisty melancholy.

i want to burn

i want to open my lips and spit out the flames that will char

the tips of your long, chestnut-brown mane

i want to emanate the kind of heat that pushes your wings up through the crowds of dead birds

up in the sky, on a thermal

i want you to see the beauty gliding on my warm breeze and i want to tear your clothes and give you blisters until you

remember how alive you are, we are;

i want to set myself ablaze with the joy of being so godlike

so full of love

so equal to myself

so free through the knowledge

that the sky stretches on forever.

and i am not afraid of the sun, i welcome its searing plasma

i welcome the scars i get from all the sharp beaks plunging from the clouds

i will swim through a sea of razors

i will shout at the top of my lungs, “i exist!!!!”

i’m not over yet, i keep the flame burning, i keep the candles on in my temple of animal passion where angels

come to drink voraciously out of these puddles

because it’s raining.

the hell with this. it’s always raining.

it always has and it always will.

so what?

what does that have to do with keeping the flame alive?

it’s the rain that makes it all worthwhile.

keep trying.

keep dreaming

the most absurd dreams writhing like worms in a tomb

let them eat their way through you

never give up

until you are

eaten alive.

you’ll never burn better than when you are soaked.


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