I am too many words
and there are too many miles
left
to be silent just yet.
I want to dip my fingers
in every pot of paint
and fall asleep
a mosaic in the sun
dry blues cracking like
deserts on my arms and
emerald green legs peeling like
dragon scales
when I wash off my
orange
violet
red swirled hands
it will be in oceans
far far away.
There is nothing magic
about travelling
except for the dust that
travels with you
and the sun that sets
on every ocean.
I am too many words
and my thoughts are jumbled.
Remembering the old faces and
wide open spaces that didn't want
me to leave.
Imagine a great dome of a sky
and prison bars
made of tall grass.
That was a life of
comfort and little else
and I want more.
Words are spilling and splatting
on this life of a canvas
and I can think of little else to do
besides swirl and make new colors
with my fingers.