Native Dreamer Biography

Pain,
Is this a word,
I have it and yet it was there in the clearing it left me.
Gripped by a certain energy,
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Crystal beneath the setting sun,
Burning beauty in a misty haze,
The heir to immortality plays listlessly,
Through caverns we run,
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My head grows big here
with ideas i want to get down on paper
Madrid? Budapest?
Lorca, Picasso? Relentless questions
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This was an email poem written when I passed through Northern Territory Australia on the way to meet the aboriginals its a bit rushed and raw I changed after learning from them.
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