By Celeste Morales
Here, torches fly. Manipulation of many hands: real and mystique.
Clotted blood attempts to melt loose.
Then, tossed around the cortex.
For balance: the savior gifts a bouquet of honeysuckle
She revels in a pale sun. Darts through
flowers that line
the path. Graces them with her feet
Shroud bound as she is. Knives circling its maze.
There is an uproar of applause. an abused
energy, two breaths
of silence triggering a wave of cannon balls
and lilies, simultaneously thrown through the air.
Behind curtains a combination
of black veins shifting occipital lobes. A roadway
to milk the painted faces. She awards an ornament of wings.
Originally from Los Angeles, Celeste Morales has
been living in North County San Diego since 2009.
Her colorful poetry impress mysterious images upon the
reader leaving it open for interpretation.