I was a writer

I was a writer. 

 

I am in Honduras

I flew there I imagine

I am dizzy, I can’t think             I have been painting like a mad woman in the attic

It is wet outside and humid        I wear colours red, green and pink

It is beautiful; the porch wraps around the house. My feet touch the wood, it is damp, and has textures I like

I don’t speak the language         I have silence

I am quiet in my room               I try to write and I paint

I love the jungle 

I go to the Mayan ruins, I feel the spirits     I go to the ports and look for a boat.  I am afraid to fly

I don’t know how I came there.    I am dizzy, my head hurts

The wash of colours cause me to blink strangely

Where is my mind?  It is lost on the currents

Am I am back?        Where am I now?

I am uncertain

They give me an injection

I am in Honduras

    28, May 2012

    ne bottalico

    ~musing silence~  name on My Space

 http://www.myspace.com/objectsandoddities
http://www.facebook.com/ObjectsAndOddities

|The Breathing of Iris |

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