Journal 57 - Clothes for Life's Dance

I collapse onto the wet ground, saturated after the
day's rain and cold, cold against my hot-blooded
cheek - with flowers, daisies and peonies, growing out
of the corners of my smile, waving petals at the
mischievous clovers in the fluffy patch of green over
one garden block. I watch the clear bottom-heavy
tear-drop of rain descend through the salt-water sky
down onto the small petal of the three-leaf clover,
attaching temporarily with wet friction adhesive qualities,
forcing the smooth leaf to bow down to the drip-dropping
wet ground; the rain drop scootches down the quite proper
and obsequious leaf like a small child sliding down a
leather couch, holding on to the top of the couch with
out-stretched hands sliding down slowly and joyfully
in loud sticky rubs of skin on leather - this is how
the adhesive drop of rain from the pitchy cloud drips
onto the soil; the leaf springs back to place in silent
joy awaiting its next wet faery ride, splatters of
water spreading out like dandelions in the wind, or a
dog shivering itself dry upon ascent from a wet world,
water stretching in slow motion, almost creation ex
nihilo - from nothing beauty cuts her greenish eyes
in playful teasing until the day collapses like two lovers
spent on a scrambled hotel bed. I rise from the wet
ground with wet one half of me cold in the evening
wind walking back through the open door smiling like
someone who just avoided the persecution of a lawsuit
happy neighbor. The air in the house as I approach catches
me off-guard in its humid warm attack on my beauty
laden senses; a gust of whiny reality touched me in
the face, but undaunted I smiled the invalid smile of
intoxication, unconvincing with its glassy artificial
impersonality. My feet tracked specks of dirt and leaves
and pollen into the newly vacuumed floor tracing
too many childhood footsteps placed before the
atmosphere assented to our contradictory embellishments,
dirt and pollen and fleas were once the outfit of the
yard-bird's flighty prance. At last I found a way to
incorporate the outside world's clothing into my life's
dance.


5.20.09, 3