Stranger’s Nomad

Original art by Harry Palacio

The Stranger’s Nomad
A transient angel on reserve kissing the moon glow. Harken back to my womb cried the river bed as beads of sweat jeweled between her legs, closing her knees in the wake of a quiet storm.

He walks now with the frills of leather boots and magic crested upon his lips, surveying with eager eyes. Lost in the banshee midnight of midday, if that makes sense. He curls his tongue to sing to the floaters and vacancy signs that people would be. Alone in the milieu of liquified minds tipping over and pouring nothing it seems; everytime words were tried. Why should i sit here caring over the hallway lamps and chairs or paintings; when I should be finding my way through, into Shambalah’s regal quotients.

His birth mirrored the stars shimmer whilst pyramids aligned with Orion’s Belt as a scrying girl awaited in thrilled expectancy. Sadly, the Stranger’s birthright was dulled by vacuums buzzing away at the files of their heavily gnawed minds. Only fumes rose not thought. And she was gone lost in the perplexity of heavens cube.

The stranger remembers passages that sank low in the foot of his youth as his cousin, the scrying child, now long deceased would recant the beginning of the universe and foresee his life in branched out tendrils of artful, auspicious, wakeful dreaming. She gathered her love and confessed it to the young boy eager in innocence. Their third eyes quaked in wistful luminosity. “Is there an end”? he beamed. “We must press on, for this land is sinking and the universe speaks to those that speak back, now you continue as I do”.

There was a cackle in the sky for every empty “hello, How are you”. What was worse was their idea of love emptied by the weigh side, banished in a cloak of sneers. Oh, no lover spoke words fluently enough, past garbled huffs and puffs of irradiated desolation.

Walking along the dunes is an ethereal experience, the foot marks measure his motion in an undulating ebb and flow. “The granules of sand contain the components of the galaxy”, he heard her say eons ago. Coded deeply inside the speck of sand nestled between the stranger’s fingers was a vast galaxy, it’s promise beckoned to him. The sand and wind washes over existence and buries all identifiable selfness within the pearl eye of the storm. The sweeping wind; encoded with past karmic bonds to the land begins to unravel and push aside its time travelling counterpart, memory. Slowly with each lunge the stranger traversed time and with the wind strewn echoes spoke the ancients breathe and danced an old shamans incantation. The strangers lips began to blister amongst the profundity of the winds cyclical words; recanting the universe’s divine fortune.

Down by the river he picked out a soft bank for which to plant himself, the stranger’s mind was quieted by the ravine. The crimson earth bled its way into the perplexing mire of the river water. He is used to travel, stagnation curdles his blood and atrophies his body. He floated in time; a memory surfaced. “Promise and prosperity is yours; seek the universe and become aware. Wanderlust begins a coiled path wherein Nirvana becomes your existence”. As he waded further into the river’s pull he nodded. “The rabbit hole to such reality is within, opened not by force but by true love and magic”. The oracle child sprawled her cousins third eye with a dreamers kiss of profundity. Like a shadow the stranger adhered to her bidding with a heartfelt calm. A vision of the stranger’s cousin clung to the pores of his consciousness; a child now tense with death of 11 years time, bending the understanding of time’s relativity.

I still hear you in the heat of this desert; you glimmer on and off onto the arid breathe of day. Sinking low, soft hums echo into my inner gleam. The space that looms tersely brimming from the wakeful dreaming gaze becomes the precipice for all lost transitory tangible thought. Steaming whilst the brooding turns me over scaling the universe’s concave mist. Speeding down the aisle, a thickness racked by pinned and holed emotions as the stranger inhales another breathe of stardust steeped tobacco. Lung blown, wind spiraling leaving indentations upon my heart. Strapped steady and dense in the most ill conceived sparse segments of insistence, the stranger gazed past the sun and moon with a cooly lit glare regal in it’s heir blowing through the allusions.

The flames exploded upon explosions and thankfulness grew on his smiling. Built like a sneer of proposal anticipation streaked forwards and glistened in the pristine cunning, alert jubilation. The stranger crowned the laws of fire making with a withdrawn bouquet of potentiality; to seek and commit fervor for the dead appreciation. Fire’s ignited thighs; Prometheus bearer of our lifeblood, settling the heavy mid-ground of gifts forsaken.


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