it starts as something individual,
but over time you start to see it
everywhere, in everyone,
like a stroke of neon paint
in their souls, or a hint of lavender
on the collar of their clothes,
or a tattoo that had been carved
in their skin while asleep.
it is a spirit on both shoulders,
advising people to take roads
only they see, to destinations barred
from outsiders and the half-hearted.
it places sacred airs on everything
one owns saying, all of it were
hard won, all of it is infinitely
significant like a divine command,
all of it is trophies, even the bad
mixture of colours, or the strange
smells that attach to our bodies
through long, uncertain journeys,
or the scars from thickets of thorns
that try to trip you from the sides.
and then it all comes together,
like a bouquet of wild herbs,
or an assortment of wild leaves
wrapped in strong, green vine. and
then everyone talks about how
they went through, halfway through
the journey only they can take,
they talk about it, in lively spirits
around the fire they made, they
made with stones and other things
they picked up along the road,
fire to warm themselves and talk,
‘cause people like that always know
how to start a fire where they are.
DoubleSpeak 