In Place

Wed, 12/25/2013 - 16:44 -- Moshobo
My room can blind eyes.
The neon yellow walls fry pupils,
Like sun rays daze unprotected eyes on the beach.
 
Be careful not to fall into the posters.
You'll experience vivid dimensions of tie dye,
A whirlwind of color.
Woodstock will take you back a few decades,
And New York City will drop you in magical streets lit like no other.
 
My body is immersed under fluffy bed sheets,
Eyes closed, ready to sleep,
But the intense incense is still awake, burning on.
 
Its aroma is pure earth,
Tricking my subconscious into dreaming of a campsite far away.
The leather walls bear a cone,
The wooden logs hold its place.
The owls and coyotes painted on the exterior
Come to life under the stars,
While the howls of the real coyotes bounce off of trees,
Echoing under the phase changing moon.
 
The fire is crackling, dancing, flickering, flowing
Like the creek that is only steps away.
The teepee emerging from the mystical woods is my true home.
Even though my human body lays in a bed at my address,
My soul yearns for a temple that is addressless.

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