CellfI command my head to melt.
A blending of all landscapes
starts to breathe and
whole seas of disease are
How hard to lose a face
   in a face.
Who I might have been
   is shelved.

   Breezing trees
   start to sneeze;
   I’m at the helm
   and you’re on the throne.

In the dangerous ebb and flow
of crowding instincts and haunts of reason,
somewhere between the purpose and the release
savages find their way to the shoreline.

   Dripping edges go wobbly.
   Tomorrow seems arduous
   but blessèd is today.

When the greaseproof wrapping is removed
and old baby grudges rebuked,
we plan a fairytale party
to get closer to our
all-embracing new cellves.

Don’t look too far for inspiration.
Disconnect from the points of nausea.
– Is everything okay with the pregnant fish?

Panic fills the cloudy sky
and seeds begin to fill the horizon.

– Was that the real you
or is your face
still struggling to break through?

When the sullen rain is over
I’m hoping to be in Rainbow Corner,
further along
an easeful flow.
The unnamed place:
carving a beautiful face.

Tut   A plane goes over.
   The sun wiggles its forefingers.
   I’m still an inbetweenie
   yet there’s more to me than meets the eye:
   half of my head is sky.

   And so, over the brow,
   looking for something to promise . . .
   The words come over glossy,
   and the trail is shut away.

© 2003 Pete Gioconda & Black Cat Communications
All rights reserved