the words are not what you’d think perhaps ;;
the wind rattles down the texas highway, past the blue bonnets and the highway long grass and the low-laying live oaks stubbling just past head height. the light filters through the shy little spear-leaves and shelters the cobbled grass stragglers at our feet. everything feels the lack of water. everything edges towards and away from the heat.
but the city – is it liquid; flexible; gathered at the edges and perking up at the center — it is rich, local, flavorful, pungent, spiced, metropolized, conscious-eyed and sprawling with creation. the city it is a galvanized portal to seven new realms and 3 recycled ones. the city is a map unfolded in ten hues of gold leaf, ash, soot and metal — patina and reckless abandon — to turn the rust of the south into a subterfuge for society and counter-culture
and me, i feel the sunshine on my skin for the first time in months – i forget it’s blaze and fire-tongue. i forget the way light shines through colors like platinum and endless power. i curl into cousin connection – into the courageous forever of a lifelong friendship // into comfort and endless discovery // i pound my feet into pavement and walk until my feet find my body at the end of the hours – peeling back towards the darkness of twilight gathering on empty branches and i fold my legs inwards towards the comfort of emlyn’s little house rattling in the wind. the wind rattling down bennet and 46th — keeping austin just how you’d think, perhaps — strange, unique, and all to its own, a lone star amongst a thousand others never quite like it in the night sky