poem: fricative 4:1

i live in the ether
between the raindrops
my atoms scatter out
to the four winds
to the seven seas
i'm not contained in this body

and the more i try
to be contained
the more
i hurt

i don't want to be coherent, cohesive, controlled, cataloged, caught

i'm meant to be a wild thing


i've been
for the last few years
so caged by the circumstances, some of my own doing, some not
i haven't written poems, haven't had the soul for it, sold for it not
i'm an old woman
and a little girl
it's the maiden
escapes me

wind
you're meant
to carry me away
with turbulence and
mellow breezes alike
you're meant to lift me off
maybe like a leaf swirling swirling smashing into a tree
maybe like a puff of dandelion scattering dancers on the breeze

but
where are the desert references
where would we be
without we dance
beneath the milky way in the way
only possible on the ocean floor of prehistoric imagination
desert floor blooming in my mind, and the colors run and jump
to become a desert wind
and round and round again
until for closure's sake we must
finally finally
consumate
in a tent, so best
not wait too long
that shit
is not
getting
more comfortable