At the grounds of the old palace
bare-footed by order of the guards
old and wrinkled like the trunks of sawo trees.
Cold black sand
imported two hundred years ago from 60 miles west
the old burnt palace
better luck next time.
His heels pressed hard on the sand.
The sand refused to give in.
A dark pendopo
No Visitor Past This Point
out of respect
for the watermarked angels and goddesses.
An old woman
cleavage brown as chestnut
a brazier of glowing charcoal raised in her right hand
The most normal thing to do in the world.
Bali.
Early morning.
Kuta.
Pretty shop attendants in kebaya
sexier with the thin
brief obi on their waist
An afterthought.
A sacrifice to the gods
holy water on tips of bamboo brushes
A sembah with eyes closed
He would believe in anything.
This is all just so much prettier.
I want to start my day everyday like this.
She
me
those pretty Balinese girls
this stupid kraton
that megalopolitan I wanted so much to call home
everything
is so random
everything is related
nothing is true.
Divagyrations 