Friday, 22 February 2013

There is a Weight


There is a weight in my legs
that I'm not privy to.
I stretch them to release
the heaviness.
Then I walk around
until the sun shines upon my face.

I see people.
Men. Women.
Each sex seeing each other different.
The sun hits each visage in
a different way,
reacting to lines and contours.

None move the same, thoughts
different, but beyond basic.

Sad eyes stare at the walls
inside the tunnel,
drunken jeans low on the hips
leaving the glare of a thong
that is left in peace by the idiosyncrasies
of strangers thoughts.

Two girls skip up the elevator
weightless in the air
freed of momentary thinking.
Mock heels clattering
across the floor at three steps
back for one dance forward.

Hair grows unfettered across
richly worn skin,
greyed at the edges with experience
that cannot be found in his book
but learned
from the wind and sea.

Each sees the air move
in a different circle.

My legs feel calm now.
Blood flows through them
casually.

I can't make the blood stop.
Nor change the direction that
it flows,
but I can direct the sun
to hit my skin where I want it to.

So I do.