Tattoo

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Tattoo

I think I might have a tattoo.
It is the color of perfume and ashes,
With shades of smoke and holograms.
As cold as intergalactic space,
It follows me wherever I go.
It is even bigger than I.
It is as big as the sky.
It wraps me up in its arms.

It was the only way I could change my skin,
Because I wouldn’t want to change myself.
Anyway, I know, in better days,
I have already been a butterfly,
With a velvet body,
With eyes which have seen,
Into the darkness of Morpheus, God of Dreams,
Into the darkness of Yama, the Slave of Shiva,
Into the darkness of time, the minion of Death,
Into my own darkness, my own magic,
My own metamorphosis.

I’m pretty sure I’m an old soul.
I have done this before.
I can almost remember being inside my own tomb,
My visage taken away,
My blood no longer sticky and thick,
Turned into the salt water from the early oceans,
The frozen water of the rings of Uranus,
Of Neptune, of Nefilim, the mythic twelfth planet,
Turned into air,
The energy of a 9.6 earthquake.

The smell of sex was no longer sweet or salty.
Not the smell of sweat.
Not the sound of moaning,
Nor, the voice of animals rushing to Carnival,
Strands of wet hair,
Confetti rain on the wrong side of the moon.
When I returned from death,
I was brighter than heaven.

But, oh, I keep forgetting,
You, who have a heart of innocence,
The eyes of a child,
You have never been dead.
You do not remember the mysteries of Death’s mask,
Dancing plumage, blind muteness, introspective infinity,
Interconnected potential,
The unbound opportunity for realization,
Out of which anything can manifest,
And, only devotion survives.

Right now, no matter how close we are to the edge,

We are on the side of our created awareness.
Now, time is more than just an angle of perspective.
It dictates our every moment.
It tells Orpheus when he is allowed to sing.

Since we are always in Death’s hands anyway,

Eternity is going to taste like anything he says.
It seems to me, a tattoo isn’t much.

Life is like a stranger, living inside us.
Every day it tells us a bit more of its story.

Anyone can have a tattoo,
But, your sleep is yours alone.
No one else can live your nightmares.
Your dreams cannot be dreamt,
By anyone but you.
Not even by your lover.

Butterfly IV

Butterfly IV
Digital Photoart “Butterfly IV” by Valeria Castellanos

If I could I would grow wings and fly with you, down flowered lanes 
I’d fly with you, into the silver, singing, stained-glass rains 
I’d fly with you, away from ancient autumn’s wizened eyes 
I’d fly with you, into the gemstone colors of the sunrise 
And, I would dance with you, in dreams, of bright, reflecting skies

Butterfly I

My Butterfly
Painting by Valeria Castellanos

You are well aware of life’s magnetic flow
and, all of the angles of the earth
I will tell you my secrets
If you tell me the secrets of the wind
If you let me follow you
into the spiral skies
into the heart of the spherical morning’s mist
into the eyes of flowers, sun kissed
Let me escape
from leaves refusing to cease their falling
from memories which won’t stop calling
from forest’s spark and shadows dark
the echoes of the lingering past
the promises which did not last
the lies which shook my world like thunder
pulled me down and pushed me under
Take me instead into your world
into your joy and wonder

Butterfly II

Butterfly II by Valeria Castellanos
Digital Photoart “Butterfly II” by Valeria Castellanos

Butterfly, blossom within a breath of wind

seeking, the same as I

through the spin of the world’s ways

and, angles of the sunbeam’s rise

through seasons and songs without words

and, abstractions of the pathways of perfumes

in which the future looms

 

Be my connection to resurrection

Be my connection to the heavens

Be my connection to the spirits of life

And, to the thousand seasons of tomorrow

 

Speak to me, butterfly

before the wind blends with the weeds

Gather me

before the bulging pods burst forth their seeds

Kiss me quick

before quicksilver spider webs grow long

before the last note of this fading song

before the lengthening shadows

of the late sky turn to gray

before you turn your head and fly away

Oh butterfly, oh butterfly

wildflower wise

speak to me

even if its only once

before I close my eyes