Stay away from the light that is lime in gesture shining rays down.

Something told me that somewhere my soul is locked between word and issue; spirit and one noun.

I must say the thought lay tattered in sentences unraveling my evening into a dress torn...

 

But I will go anyways.

Who gives a shit.

 

I will go where tonight’s curtain of red will draw the stake from my throat, and explain my speech’s imprudence to remain humble.

Nothing but parasols twirling in whims.

I am speaking of voice not of soul devastatingly gone.

So, I must give my bones the necessary clatter of life, when my heart seeps in teacups Saturday morning.

Fragmented memories of parties thrown in my youth…

The beautifully horrifying dive into a woman is now fully understood, as told by the blood of my pen.

That it is never a carnival that disappears randomly at night, into irrevocably indecent endeavors of stones found unusually lost without touch...

 

So I will go anyway.

Until I find it…

My “love”.

 

© Mimi Caneda Mata