The empty fist. That beats. The prisoner in her ribcage kicking. Pictures and animals. Numbers and skin. The math is as ugly as it's ever been.
Listening. To that skipping record. I am.
The crippled dogs. The paper heavens. All taken by the wind.
Her eyes like matchsticks. Burn briefly. A needle in the darkness. Virulent for a thread. The hours turn. In their sickness. The orbit of confession. Discovers choices in all the wrong places. The pattern. Empty swings. Soft gardens. Sharp with the seeds of suicide. The years pretend. Choices heavy with absent gods.
Hungry wolves. Hide their fangs. Plastic eyes conceal their sight. Vision comes in kaleidoscopes. Fractal. Anxious. sharp blades close to the throat.
The fist. Pounds in her head. A thunder of blood. A whisper of flesh. The world counts out loud. Arrogantly assuming someone is listening.
She's a little pig. Arguing with the wolf. She's helpless. Inside her brick house. As the walls come tumbling in.
Sunday
3/18/2012 12:42:00 AM
such power in these words.
i really need to come visit you more often...here.
Namaste'
thanx.
Please do not stop your regular stream of posting g your thoughts, ive been reading them for a long long time now :)
thanks so much for what you do, also, accessing the page on my phone is now easier, i dont know if you deliberately changed something, but it means i can read on the train aswell now. Have you any idea how many people follow this blog ? just out of interest really.
glad to hear you've been enjoying my blog for so long now.
if it works better on your phone recently that's not anything i did. probably something blogger did behind the scenes. cool that it does though.
dunno how many people genuinely keep coming back and reading week after week. don't generally concern myself too much with that side of things.
just need to write.
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