Horizontal dancing
to the sound
of the spinning earth –
vulnerable as
a frantic fly
yet ready to burst
from the house’s pod.
With you, we dicover
senses
that logic’s
data banks
had tried to process
into the pure expression.
Paper flaps like giant ferns
and there is a cave
in the corner of the room.
It is possible
to pick up
shards of shadows
to make into tools.
And when your hunger-screams
fly in the primeval forest
they are
half-lizard, half-bird.
by Mike Jenkins
from Empire of Smoke
