You believe in God, I believe in camouflage. My Latin name means nice running escape; the only reason you're writing about me is you need to use this letter in the alphabet. You're never going to see me in Paraguay, you walk by my cage in the zoo. Until you know the original version, the faded gray, the mysterious, the silver suit I got, that allows me to run away and not be seen, still, and allowed to not be, still. Some change that won't change. Or to eat flowers, forget you eat flowers, like you're susceptible and not at war, you're always at war. And shining, the oldest thing you got is not the oldest, we're all the same age, the only age is now, only our atoms are eternal. In lunging to ovalesques or spins; so lunge, so lungs, slowly the sound of our call. Not who I am, not how you know me, I've been around, I was taught that writing came from observing the footprints of birds, the priests would dip my feet in ink and set me loose on the parchment covered floor of the temple each year, they'd read these signs, they understood what I was telling them, so that when you follow me I'm teaching you how to hide. I am so poorly known. The nest was located on the ground in dense brush or between raised root buttresses. Nowhere was your calm, yes was your withholding, from the cages, the foliage of the forest bowering me. And I am such a man I incubate the eggs which may come from as many as four different women; I raise them until they are ready to be on their own, and I do it in three weeks.
Poem by painter musician Keith Hill
Dramatic reading and music, Ink drawing/digital painting by Benno Celorio
Badass!
This is a vibe.