word conversion

My mind is a great expanse

And I wander within

it, this place.

Sometimes it is a jungle,

wet and dream-breathing.

A house with many rooms.

Sometimes, it is an ice river,

cold and whipped turbid,

thick with mountain.

Sometimes,

it is a drained pan of a planet,

stone-stolen and lonely,

seared by the rip sun:

wasted. All, wasted.

And it has also been a salt-flat:

miles of sticky mire,

my footsteps immortalized

like a moving fossil. 

I sometimes

want to lay down in it,

the mystery

of it.

My body often becomes tired.

I have wondered before

about ruination.

I become a child with her hand in her mouth,

and paralyzed.

But always, always

words are birthed

in the soft murk of the bottom

edge of a world.

It has been like this for us.

From a frightening rot,

we emerge into a treasure funk,

speaking. 

I translate myself, again.