The Leavers Curse

The Air is thick with the smell of steam, rotten and pure, salty and fresh

It is stirred by the breath of the sea,  a whisper on the back of my knee

Lightning brightens the sky in clusters, rhythmic and pulsing

Heavenly fans and clouds of thunder play acoustic rythyms on the leaves

It is tranquil

The Mind is thick with thoughts of feelings, ripe and firm, toxins and chemicals

It is stirred by actions of late, a curse across my conscience

Neurons sparkle and die in torrents , fizzing and bubbling

Whisps of guilt and threads of doubt play their string harmonies on my Soul

It is confused

The Gizzard is thick with the intuition of navigation, impulsive and divine,  twisty and straight

It is stirred by the threat of indecision, a result of duplicate feelings

Pathways open and close in staccato succession, crackling, bidding and biding

Intrinsic knowledge and learned stereotypes play their synthesiser trash on my Mind

It is ready

The Soul is thick with words of paranoia, hesitant and bipolar, critical and constructive

It is stirred by thoughts of duplicate feelings, due to actions of late

Arguments jump from words, flapping, fitting and flying or dying

Memory and conscience hum to the harmonies of guilt and doubt, playing with Me

It is advertised.

The Water is thick with tidings of the storm, hot and cool, wet and frothy

It is stirred by the pull of the moon, a tormentor of hormones and lonely dogs

Monsters be hiding here and there, quilling, gilling and sometimes grilling

Waves from near and far play their percussion concerto on the sand

It is time

The Air, the Mind, the Gizzard, the Soul, the Water

It is tranquil, it is confused, it is ready, it is advertised, it is time

It is me.