I.
I once walked in a lush jungle, dark heavy green, air tinged purple. Dusk. I came to a bend in a stagnant river. Algae chocked the water, made it soupy. Tangled in the reeds was dark hair, grasped by aquatic ferns and swaying gently. The dark hair, silky in the water, extended from the body of a woman, brown skin violet, lavender robe on bloated flesh. Floating on her back, she looked at the sky. A black and purple flower, bulbous and oozing white, emerged from one eye. I waded into the warm water to her, my dress billowing up around me. Clay slid between my bare toes. I plucked a black petal speckled purple and slid it under my tongue.
II.
I woke up in an airy Italian villa. Rounded archways looked out from hills to sea. Salty air wafted in. Across the room, a wood cross hung on the spare wall, next to a wooden wardrobe. A flapping noise, wings batting against a closed space jerked me out of my half-sleep. Still drowsy, I crouched at the iron bedpost, leaning over the foot of the bed toward the wardrobe. As I pressed my hot swollen cheek to the cool bedpost, a long-limbed winged-woman burst from the wardrobe. Her head was shaved, her skin a papery-white tinged green, silver and green wings fluttering rapidly, dripping sparks and glittery droppings. She flit about the room, head hanging down, pouting.
III
Three throbbing red suns intersecting the corner windows and my head heavy on the examination table. I cannot tell if the restraints are still on or if it is the drugs are making me lethargic. A blond woman in pink sits by my side with a practiced look of concern. “Is there anything I can do for you,” she asks, eyebrows knit, two hands pressed together in supplication, head tilted slightly forward.