Deciduous Magnolia
Deciduous Magnolia I live in the emancipated pigeons of verbs that bellow or are silent, tattooing my spaces with the ancient wisdom that climbs up my tired back. I sneak into the senile mind of my illusions. But what if I get lost in the intricate abyss of the flesh's twilight? Who would pour the pearls of their anguish over me, or light the alter candle of my perennial memories? Whose Nannie would sleep with me on the dismay of my wandering soul, my bed of withered magnolias? If I shout into the wind, the leaves of anguish are shaken. Wind stirs the nests of disenchantment and anger. The storms of the past are subjected to the bluster of my echo, and the indelible present among the branches of my tree. I shelter myself within carmine so as not to lose sight of the dawn.