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Scrapbook
from Fiji
Drift
back into nostalgic photos: a coral-fringed
beach where time seems to stop, framed against
the sunset sky; the sensual native who cleanses
inhibition in heathen springs of undressed sunlight.
Many
journeys begin in his eyes. I find myself
traveling into them again. A drunken sailor lost
on the sordid side of town, wondering if past
could swirl into future.
Let
me wash upon his tawny shores
in waves of whirlpool tongues
and untethered tides, intertwining and writhing
in the currents of the rocky straits below his navel.
Undertows flow in unison to beating tribal drums,
drifting on rushes of wind in a warm tropical shower.
Eyes on fire with the exhilaration of dolphins arching high
in the air.
Let
me quench this thirst with untamed water,
touch his cheek again like gentle rain.
Let us be lovers who kiss in the setting sun
as it blankets the ocean,
says goodnight, then slips away.
Come.
Lie down beside me,
and whisper my name.
Copyright
© 2001 Rick Parsons
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Portfolio
in the Rain
I remember the final days of the monsoon
best.
The exotic spirits and pills rained down his throat,
sloshed his mind in sludgy splatters of murk.
The
camera remembered him best posed
on the toilet, head tilted over his shoulder,
mouth drooled open, shorts around his ankles;
a knockout on the runway floor.
He
wouldn't remember that photo shoot
taken during another blackout.
A shaken and rattled slur, he couldn't
even open his eyes. I tried to sober him up
with caffeinated cups of goodbye,
thick skinned and bitter from brewing too long.
I
remember the final days of the monsoon best.
His eyes were still closed as he stormed down
the flights of my twelve step stares.
That's when he stumbled into the door
on his way out, the locks changed
like last years overrated styles.
Copyright
© 2001 Rick Parsons
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Hemispheres
Part Two
Hemispheres
were him, hothouse landscapes
where night hid from day and tiny creatures
of the psyche ran through hot-blood terrain.
I
walked along edges
of southern tectonic plates,
fed on jungle fruit, touched each leaf
with soft desire. My own roots grew
in sultry, steamy twilight.
I
dared to terra form chaotic coasts,
strained to tame a reckless planet.
I planted my seed and like God,
tried to create Man in My image.
Flora
sprouted despite ensuing chills.
A father's cruel, frigid care fluttered
over a child's horizons; coursed across
shifting surfaces where love branched out.
He
took shelter in my embrace,
then claimed my offshoots overshadowed him.
He did not realize his duality cracked
the final fissures, erupted slow volcanic waves.
I pulled up roots, brushed off dirt,
walked away from the hemispheres
that were him.
Copyright
© 2001 Rick Parsons
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