Going To Alaska

	  		
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The jacaranda are wet with color, 
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And the heat is a great paint brush, lending color to our lives, 
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To the air, and to out faces; but i'm going to alaska 
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Where there's snow to suck the sound out from the air. 

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Up, yes, in the branches, 
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The purple blossoms, go pale at the edges; 
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There is moaning in the shifting of the sap, and i see in them traces 
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Of last year, but then they hadn't grown so strong, 
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And their limbs were more like wires. now they are cables. 
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Thick and alive with alien electricity, and i am going to alaska, 
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Where you can go blind just by looking at the ground, 
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Where fat is eaten by itself 
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Just to keep your body warm. 

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Because from where we are now, it seems, really, 
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That everything is growing in a thousand different ways; 
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That the soil is soaked through with old blood and with relatives 
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Who were buried here, or close to here, and they are giving rise 
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To what is happening. or can you tell me otherwise? 
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I am going to alaska, where the animals can kill you, 
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But they do so in silence, as though if no-one hears them, 
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Then it really won't matter. i am going to alaska. 
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They tell me that it's perfect for my purposes. 

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