Indelible

I dream of a meadow,
of the orange rays which blind me.
Dazzle,
Obscure,
dismiss from mind.

A meadow which transforms into a war field,
of obliteration.
The provocation to take down enemies
one by one.
So that none are left standing.

Scrutinize the tattoos on the enemies' bodies. Why leave marks?
i dwell on the fantasy of reverse-tattoos,
to be unpierced,
unmarked.
To remove the indelible,
the inerasable.

All down now. the tattoo men.
But the bareness is only an illusion to the eye,
a comfort to the mind.
Look what's left on the horizon of this warfield, so small you almost missed it,
Cotton on thorns.

Cotton, once of the purest form,
pierced. Blood splattered -
sight, stench, the scaly touch, the metallic taste.
Another mark,
Indelible.

"Remove the cottons, rip out the thorns.", i hear you say.
But how do i go through the whole meadow?
To have gone through half of the field,
only to find new thorns grown in place of the old ones.
A cruel chaff; a needless mockery.

I dream of a meadow,
a meadow of thorns.
And I can't wake up.

To muffle,
fog,
make undistinct.
To conceal,
but what's underneath,
is Indelible.

Like your presence,
Then, and Now.


-Apple Ko.