moving on
old grey pixelated photos
line up against today’s backdrop
same person? same place?
smoking grey coconut hulls
shower us with magic, danger
either way, too close
red lines barely tie these islands together
and dollar signs drift in and out of focus:
how to get to point B when point A resists?
all I want to do is sleep now to the echo of gamelan
but we must keep moving on
Bali Bearings
incense and flowers spilling into the street
furious gamelan pounding
with the same strokes as
the threshing of rice
shocking turquoise of kingfisher
matched with the identical blue rice-field banner
waterfalls along the sidewalk
frangipani scent everywhere
orange stone and
black-and-white checked guardians
the shadow puppet villian’s bwa-ha-ha
and the Baris dancer’s and Barong’s rolling eyes
a stark contrast to the friendly Balinese
Bali finds every way to outdo itself
(even now, despite the travelers who complain
it’s overdone)
& saturates your every sense
