Hair and grief

[creativesoul]

This morning I am determined to get a hair cut- no matter what t do- there is no avoiding it- real past -that hair fell off like a witness to the dreams of a woman that is happy after dark alley ways and New Orleans jazz rolled off her like sweat in the sweetness of lovers tongues-spoken languages seemed to permeate the places of scented fingerprints on the heart- a man from Vietnam nam files my nails- I think he would have been an artist if he did not have to sculpt American women's fingernails to some sort of acceptable beauty-
There is so much going on in my head- that it is best this poor man is holding my hands- cannot manage to figure out what to do - there are drawings and paintings on my eyelids- make up cannot disguise - the allure of the dangerous- how attraction to the strange and unusual is much like a fatal attraction- those flames rise up and very little can release it from the burn.
That little spark that seems to follow a predestined order- yet while staring into that flame- things come alive and die down in a trance of seemingly quiet peacefull introspection- yes it is true- that every hair on my head is known- that when they find mummies in the Andes- they are bones and hair- this is the only thing left- the most important vapors slipped on out the back JACK - the hair burns, finally a few ghosts from the bones of where i was cast in bronze with water coming out of my mouth at your sugar daddys mansion. there are no tickets to ride- this is it- every little tickle, cell and nerve ending is rolling full of great spirit and all that that implies. i hear the bones inside move around when i dance-- - when my hips unlock my back-when my nerves swindle yet another rush of good blood running thru the places that no longer yield darkness---the journey back to surrender- the healing spirits of love-in my bones i felt you-