Visions Of Johanna - Poem by Rod Rattle
For my beautiful Ciska
Vision 1: The beginning snap of winter.
Frigid air with foggy breath. When as a child you could pretend to smoke.
Breathalyzed and told to get out of the car, oops! Drunken love.
The intoxication of you in my memory,
Memories set afire, blazes like sex, sex lit by pyromaniacs and it's not even close to the 4th of July.
You say, "come on over", "come inside" with your voice all honey from too much talking and never about the weather. And I say, "I already did", "did what? " "Came inside all warm with your honey, honey! "
Vision 2: At the end of summer.
Sunlight softer in the sky, all butter golden syrup and butterflies.
You made me laugh with stories about your Dad and his land, an oasis in the middle of a car park, owned by Carepark, CARE PARK? ! What fuckers! ! Took care of us all right.
Don't worry dear Reader, we don't hold grudges, we just get even.
I said, "I'll don a ski mask and armed with a sledgehammer go and adjust every Carepark meter in town! " I had the voice of a muezzin calling to prayers for the fifth time today and that made you laugh.
The laugh you get when no one is looking, that comes with your cheeky little devil girl smile.
Vision 3: The in-between season.
When Gaia turns Sybil and give you cause to take a raincoat while wearing a tee shirt and swimmers.
We never talk about the weather, there's always so much to talk about, like whether or not anti-matter is expanding the universe and why is that moon so fat-faced there tonight and baby blue gumball small later on? So what has proof? And what is true?
That my star constellation is exploding with you.
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