Small Offerings

The midget hulks a weightlessness filled bucket half the size of herself toward the waters edge to drown into lapping tongues of a salivating tide. Constellations of fish & fishermen wait with patience for union & sacrifice.

Below in the wake of the miniature lady dance a triptych of innocents who toy with head-fulls of fantasy, bursting exclamations of a language lost to us who huddle above in our thatched towers of impatience.

We wait, impotent & gasping for more jaws to fling ourselves at. Hope with a fool's faith that in vast stacked sets sent from the deep, They march upon us again & soon. We wait for war & in the waiting our armour hardens and weapons rust with sun baked salt crust.

Some isolate themselves behind great thick texts. Some choose games of chance where cross-cultural language tints half-comprehensions & subtly overlooked incongruencies are ruthlessly exploited till rules-of-play morph & mutate like a virus.

Others choose to distill their innards with bubbling bottles at extortionate prices - but who are those to bark at the coin-height set? It is their pleasure & privilege that calls their thirst which has no forethought to how these drinks are delivered... a decent of eighty or more so treacherous steps steep down the back of a reaching cliff, balanced with ballerina strength & poise upon the heads of local ladies half their size, twice & thrice their age!

Few choose to loose toes through sand, across rock in unfamiliar directions for the sake of further pigmentation in the guise of shell-rummaging, bird watching, monkey hunting.

There's the sum of some who reach the limits of isolation & band for to town, to submerge themselves into darkened dens or lofty fishbowls for fresh flesh upon which to feed. There's neither room nor recognition of morals upon the city streets after dark. Seething streets warped with bodies exposing, exposed.

All here bristles with sound, fanging of too-fast two-wheeled insects, heaving strains & grunts from oversized off-roaders on streets too narrow. The armies of sellers & resellers, pirates & profiteers, hustlers & hagglers all hassling for the, good luck morning price special just for you boss - chemically sharpened hooks jag your every foot fall should you let slip the grip of blinker vision till you chance upon your destination.

All of we wait for tide & swell to voice again the summoning.

In the drier days when foot-high lips quaver and hush without coaxing even the most faithful seeker to arms, temperaments bend & warp, minds waver & distort...

Choices & decisions are made for good or ill, to find solace & sanity where-ever it can be found.

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