Bestomomentos
I had once slept the night in a cave, a feeble attempt to carry-away with my day. Crouched under swerving, rythmic waves of stowed-away rock, the hallowness whispered between my bones, awaiting its day, almost chewing my breath. Pinpointed by monolith, I almost had to apologize for my size. When I made sounds alone, each isolated, banal clicker or clamper escaped the confinement of mere occurence, instead transforming into a twisted plee for some kind of benign accompaniment, a clunky bandit refutating my proud solitude. I ought to say I dreamdt it into being, for only it could decipher the nuances of my vulgarities, my noises left unheard, for as I went truly wild, I imagined my perviewer. At times cooing would settle in; and then I understood that a beast is born of every moment. They flee and linger in the forest, following us two-steps back on the trail, sleeping next to us, ready to pounce back, pin us down, roar and then let us remember how we’ve birthed, bred, and abandonned. So they and I swirm around nawing each other without word in a haphazard eco-system marked by calm waters.
