Rainforest circling. She was looking up at the sky, covered in dark viscous green foliage. Let me take sometime to make you see what I do. Such dark green with shadows of black, green not in venomous but green as in the paintbrush of those clouds that are fat grey, waiting to roar, moving with the elephant's poise and so thickly packed to squeeze in oceans. Such was the foliage, ambushing every look upward to the sky, not knowing for one if what lies beyond is blue, orange, yellow or the night itself has lunged into the most intense moment of its waveful orgasms out of sleep, into waking. Such was the silence, not empty but heavy. And such was the word for the mood, heavy. Everything was so heavy from above the green shade, a little beneath in the smaller canopied air, further down inside her and beneath the ground into me.
There must have been wilder moments of such silence in the history of time, though here history was hardly a concern, nothing more than stacking moments falling like dominoes, passing as quickly as the tapping of the bronze vessel as courtesans swirl spun in colorful cobwebs, weaving another as they travel four corners of a room with black and white, criss and cross tiles. What is different is, this room echoes. The air is not heavy. Do you sense how all that we built in the span of a few words above vaporizes in this room, here? It is the echoes.
I've been thinking about dancing, except that every walk on the street is like one. Heaviness anchors all that I feel, beneath the ground, as I said, with million eyes already prepared with chronicles of praises,on this rainforest of a Jupiter place, the gravity leaves me only one place, beneath the ground. While some of me stands above and some of me dances, telecast in some other rooms.