persistence of memory
dense tropical air
weighs in at heavyweight bout,
i'm too light to fight this one.
siren song
sweet herald of yesteryear
cinnamon and plantains
baking in humid atmosphere,
next corner a blur without signposts,
without milestones,
without a way to know the darkness
of a never ending hall
of swinging clocks with
distant resonating chimes.
one minute you're fused with intrigue,
the next you've disappeared
into oversized palm leaves
of apathy and disdain.
does it all conclude?
or will the chase be a vicious cycle
of minotaurs round
spherical snowballs
till you land on soil
seeping between your toes
and place the lotus blossom
at the base of your
silk ponytail?
-- Chris Rhatigan