The festival

We floated all our red and blue balloons of colored kites that chirruped like sky birds scraping the blue off our childhood skies. We daubed yellow paint on dancing bodies
pretending to be tigers in their jungle race.

We lit huge wood fires at the road’s center to burn demon kidnappers of God’s wives
and later saw them in the evening laughing in pain from the blue sky of their ten heads.
We burnt monsters only to bring new ones that we would need to burn the next year.

Our sounds have all the complex patterns nuanced like the goat skins of our dreams
that are goats that would die in stomachs for the larger stomachs of fierce goddesses
and for our ears for their aural complexity .

Our meaning comes from our mobs of time.