Out of the Ejector Seat

Words written after a day of hot sun and inspiration at the Ejector Seat Festival...

Penstroke

The Pen beats down,
Roasts my head with inky heat,
Nothing blocks the ABC, the UV to XYZ-rays,
No Ambre Voltaire,
No slipped-on shirt nor slapped-on hat,
No slopped-on factor-many –
The Pen pierces the shady canopy of trees,
Tans the page,
The vellum of my skin –
Tans, turns, tans, turns,
Makes more melanin,
Does my melon in,
Burns,
Leathers me with verbs,
Words inhaled like pollen or hot smoke,
Sneezed-coughed-spat back out in order,
Arranged as palisades,
But the Pen is unrelenting,
May bring into being
Jungles or deserts,
Savannahs or bleached reefs –
It does not care what
As long as it is not
Ignored.