DWELLING, PART II

‘…the earth cannot become a shelter unless it is unfolded, or disclosed, by human appropriation.’

by Orestis Konis

Crop

Circling in golden crops on the outskirts like an extraterrestrial trying to compete with the foot long centipede flexing its segmented back through the undergrowth wondering where all its lush humid playground has gone off to since it could have sworn it had been there for the past 300 million years or so but circling and dallying with the light summer breeze that carries the weightless fluttering of the butterflies alighting on stalks bristling with pollen and nectar and seed I am humming a rustic tune to distract the blur of colours to calm the flurry of hummingbirds trying to peck out my eyes thoroughly perplexed by the tangy metal taste and the salty saline flavor my peculiarly twitching blossoms are excreting let alone the atonal high pitched drone being emitted from my unusually wet stigma in escalating decibels and mounting distortion startling the myriads of fruit bats and monkeys hanging from the branches now attempting to constitute my echo

Horns

In the deciduous forest with its indecipherable almanac of hues and shadows of mood with its beckoning depths of yawning sunshine and its clearings entangled in posture and height with its sinister overgrown cul-de-sacs matted with thickets of thorns and its creeks whispering of days when they run red with blood and plasma and psalms and bore witness to genesis and deicide to the coming and going of seasons gurgling soliloquies before joining the surging clamour of the river and its inexorable rush to the precipice lynched by the moss and the tilt while a mouflon stands sentinel in the spray alert in the backwash quenching its thirst and surveying my presence its spiraling horns a reminder of caustic projection of relative time of horns conveniently hidden and spiraling inwards into the centre of contagion and delusion that houses my own unique set of squinting eyes and a dumb blasé expression

Pan

An expanse of cuboids and hexagonal thirst inducing crystals pander the sun’s rays into a phosphorescent semi-sphere into a veil of light worked through by the prismatic loom of the pan and its corrugated drift lines arranged in sync with the crunch of pine needles in the copse graced by the outermost mist of the halo the scintillating borders of its presence lending a ghost’s hand to the ebb and flow of the heat and dust to the rise and fall of the incessant cicadas to the swarming gnats and to the occasional hoot of an owl an index of insomnia in the throes of noon and a counterpoint to this snoring slumber and the saccharine dreams that are accompanying it consequently it is of no wonder that while I snooze caterpillars are weaving their cocoons in the soft crevices of my curled up body 

Lapse

In an arboreal ring unmoored and betrothed to the lapse of current crowning the borders of the basin like pubic hair lapping up the moisture containing the diluvian pull unhinged in a concentric elysium engaged to the edge and to the marriage of properties harboured to the shade with no anchor tracing the connecting line mesmerized by the points of reflection stretching out as if on the back of a lucid giant pangolin made of topaz and quartz invoked and summoned out of a medieval bestiary crystallizing in an alchemical abundance of focus and blur raking through primordial mud and nuggets of gold making the landscape giddy and dizzy like Saturday night yet having no effect on the trout breaking through its scales or the water skeeters’ floating dissections yet being of no consequence to the soaring eagle diving right through its refractions and its shimmering body and thus the bees undeterred have now entered my skull and are patiently converting it into a hive while a dragonfly relaxes on the edge of my splintered tibia

Featured photo by Savvas Yerolemides

Click here to read DWELLING PART I