The Snake and the Sloth

Ink-black lines snake left and right
and enigmatic curls bulge
and fight like a torrid sea of glinting knives.
Yet with the fleeting glimmer of soft azure,
the vision becomes human; an illustration of life.
Thought and feeling exist behind the statue-like skin of one who has felt pain
and witnessed hurt.
The undeniable union of both weakness and strength
bound to life and in that moment, immune to death.
No hiss is heard and no teeth are seen yet danger entices the mind,
and excitement. Oh the excitement!

‘Let no action be pre-meditated!
Let no word be held back for fear of repercussion!
Speak what you feel and do as you please.
Society created you and
it is now time to un-create society.
Take these minds that for so many years adhered
and feared
the nurturing sphere that suckles the teat of politics and lies.
Take these minds
and draw outside the lines, erase the lines
snort the lines, fuck the lines.
Leave your fingerprints on the still-wet clay of history
and let no moment in life, or death, slip by.’

And I recoil, the fusion of fear and poetic lust clutching at my buckled skin
begging me to open my mind and heart and let it breathe in.
In that moment, I know I am already lost
and by I, I mean the old I, the old me.
For at the birth of those words, the world I knew burnt and was forgotten.
I looked out upon life through new eyes and
I touched the crackled leaves of fall with new hands
and I kissed the lips of my soft statue with lips that felt unlike my own.