White

My calloused palms feel the weight and powdery smooth surface

as I unfurl the commercially laundered bedsheet

over the king-size bed overlaid by a fraying mattress protector.

I nudge-roll the bed with the side of my leg to make room as

I squat down and tuck one edge under the heavy thick mattress.

I go around to tuck, stretch, tuck, stretch, tuck.

At each corner, I pull the sheet up forming a right triangle

as I tuck in the base first then the tip.

Hospital corners in a hotel east of the business district

a place with a rich history of strippers, pimps, hookers, users and pushers

once alive in its dark alleys and semi-lighted street corners.

Now gentrified with million-dollar homes of bankers, founders, lawyers

with their partners of good taste: organic, designer, artisanal, local.

The fully stretched pristine whiteness now covers the king’s bed.

Cold cleanliness terra nullifies the blood, sweat, tears of last night’s dark encounters.

Hides the bodily fluids of struggle, rapacity, domination and submission still

putrifying buried deep in the warm mycelial mess beneath the now clean surface.

The order of reductive white light obliterates the rich chaos of darkness.

My desire to forever go above and beyond this body into highness abuts

my longing to be here now fully embodied to dive deep down Pachamama.

White light forever seeks his dark lover but wherever he is she’s not.

Violet

She held the wooden pipe handmade by her lover towards my mouth.

She asked for my explicit consent to journey before she ignites the windproof lighter.

She asked me to breathe out fully.

I watched the little white piece disappear inside the tiny glass bottle heated by the flame as I breathed in the bluish smoke.

In an instant, every object, everything in the room disappeared

replaced by shimmering light inextricably commingled with dancing sound

Hues, shades of purples never seen in this world

metamorphizing with every breath I take.

Very much alive.

Quintillion eyes of the toad witnessing.

Song of the lady in white from a distance.

My discursive mind totally silent, no thoughts

no stories, no judgment.

Simply a deluge of sensations. Complex shapes, patterns, sounds, spaces

no-space, void full of potential, full of life.

The generator function of generator functions.

Fractal fissures in the reality interface of fitness.

Annihilation of affordances.

Dilation of time.

I heard the hissing, the rattling of snakes yet I was not afraid.

Everything melting, every solid sublimating to gaseous fluids

yet something in me refused to yield, to give in.

Melee refusing melange.

After aeons or minutes, an indeterminate time

guided by her song, the fragrance of essence,

and warm touch, I came back.

“Passion or coincidence

Once prompted you to say

‘Pride will tear us both apart’"

Red

She asked. I said yes.

She reached into her sacred spot with a finger.

Slowly, lovingly she painted her moon blood over my third eye

then the sides of my face.

I could smell iron-rich landscapes.

Red Earth, Uluru, Kata Tjuta, Mars.

We have played many times before in this life.

Perhaps in previous lives.

We love to sway our bodies together in effortless synchrony.

Very slowly. Very fast. Lightly. With much force.

As varied as the veins reoxygenating spent blood

back into the heart of things.

We love to breathe together

to re-enact the cosmic breath of creation.

Duality into unity back into duality.

Base to heart to the crown.

The crown to heart to base.

Courage is to have a heart.

A heart in the Middle Kingdom between

Heaven above and the earth below.

A heart that keeps yearning for that

which perhaps could never be had.

To keep regenerating formless potential

with no regard for the final form of the actual.

Process, not product. Progress, not perfection.

To keep fertility amidst the backdrop of futility.

This, the pulsating warmth of the infrared

that survives the antiseptic totality of the ultraviolet.