GEORGIA RED CLAY

SANGUINE, RED CLAY, A BURNT ROSE, feet in mud, muddled by mint. Hot, like chocolate, like cinnamon and water, giving them all back. Phlegmatic, cipher, of my temperament. Entered like my Fourth Agreement. Tower of the tour, ferris wheels and blushing trees, seals and otters lapping kelp strands of tangles around my ankles, feeding the forgotten. Dew  The Ancient Gaul of the fall, oh darling I’ve heard it all reference pages 1-65 of my Atlas|Atlantis, Pr(a)y|(Man)t(is), all rebuilding, or having been rebuilt. I never wanted love, I only wanted to see it—but now wondering if it’s possible for me.

Carbon, carb racing on for the energy to run to you. Renal renal like my tiny pineal gland, trying to show you what it all meant.

Plastic and water collide in an emblem of this marble game of life called Mancala.

My grandma looked into the eye of a tiger or an elephant before she died on that Safari.