Excerpt from/for 'Goose'

This is the world as I favor it: everything is voluptuous and green. The world is mating with itself and everything is being born. Even tiny snakes are hatching, according to roadkill where I walk. The forests all look enchanted. They look like an impenetrable barrier around the white city with orange roofs and foamy fountains. The sky is a deep, passionate blue, full of fat little whipped cream white and brooding silver clouds. It’s hot, though not painfully; it’s windy, but not uncomfortably. The morning was crisp – birds will agree – they certainly sang their puffy little lungs out to bring about this endlessness of color and sharp shadows. The evening will be spicy and moist, just as poignant as thieves and their lovers like it. Poems will be half written. Money will be half forgotten. Baseborns will come out and ladies will hide the faces from sun. This part of the city feels like another country. I don’t frequent it often enough. Narrow, stone streets and ice-cream the flavor of rhubarb. Twice I consider drawing my camera – first to shoot a pair of shirtless youths, practicing balance on a rope between two old pines and the second when wind picks up last year’s leaves around two white-haired old ladies. But this day doesn’t pretend to be immortalized. It’s an infusion of pep as it is. Mine. All mine. I am a sneaky little succubus of everything today.