Amaranth's Back-And-Forth Trip Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

In an amber patch,
a scratch
of goldenrod ribbons

sprinkling blood drops
on your ruby body

melting into lava
and vermilion
in dawn's pink cloud,

you turn raspberry
in the sun's flashes,
as you fit into a full indigo cloak.

In a zephyr, you
whirl into a green, emerald
dawn of you,

a wallowing gown
drawn-out sleeves

your indigo fire
of a flower,

the bird patch blowing
you in to a table
of daylight standing

on four legs
nibbling off a marbled floor
sinking daylight.

As time ticks and roars
with a full rotation,
you drift in one
of your wind-dropped leaves

a bird's feather
the hand
pushing feathery seconds
into cotton specks
of dancing galloped strides.

(ii)

Your cymes pack
feathers of indigo hue
into a tree

speaking with soft
bird-branches
and a spine in a spine

stronger than a steel pillar.
You carry a house
of you standing on

a gagged rock
blown out from thin leaves,

a leafy flying world
in wind and fire

hanging down from a patchy
cloud perched on
a stool hammered into

a corner of the sky
burning stones of clouds
into the cream rivers

of a flowing day
flooding its shores
with graphite culverts.

(iii)

The day's deluge
of wind and storm,
and dragged glow

and blaze of stars
in eyes carrying
typhoons, spill leaves ground

into a potion in life's river
slithering into a corner,

the sky toughing down
with a blaze relayed
back to sky with a trunk-candle

waving a butterfly flame
breathing in a piece of the immortal.