self-portraiti've listened to my voice. i've written down the murmured pillow talk, the friendly chats, the yammer on the phone, the little sounds. i made a little list -- i have the stats.self-portrait
but now it's only notes. what is the thread that holds these things together? where am i amidst this catalogue? the author's dead while all his disembodied voices cry.
i want some synthesis for all these parts i've gathered up. but synthesis implies the crafty use of artifice and art to find the through on which the whole relies.
SurfacingDown where the wind combs the ripples packed like dough and spins the grits thread-fine and hissing across the bars, the lizard sees valleys and blinks at the dripping sun, hot glass slopped in a puddle beneath; the scarab sees crestless waves that do not curl to slap their own feet, that do not reel head-over-giddy like a dolphin or a salmon but roll along flabby, flank-first: slow leeward snakes or strands of baked paste.Surfacing
The scarabs and lizards, poised scabby, loaf in the luxury of close meal-coarse grains and their toes scratch away crumbled sugar &
currents:@:-:@:-:@:-:@:-:@:-:@:-:@:currents
it goes like this: I stick my swollen toes into the water, dipping for relief; I crave cold comforts, blistered like a leaf at noon -- the day-hot road has smoked my soles as red as apples! but the water flows too fast, too cool, too sweetly gilds the grief and takes me like a lover or a thief (that quiet), kissing bubbles from my nose. and every time, weeds wound around my thighs, feet slimy in the silt, I lift my eyes to glowing shimmers. cold as lenten fish, I shiver for that fire and how I wish to singe my soggy feet again! aga
St. John the BaptistIs he still watching me? Wait, where has he gone? A little white lamb with black eyes. He is very quiet, he never says a word. He has been following me for months now. He is the only animal in this whole godforsaken wilderness who doesn’t say anything. Wilderness. Pha! This is not a wilderness. This is a garden. Look around you, what do you see? Trees. Grass. Birds. Colourful birds with wings like the cloaks of kings, flowers like a crown. This used to be a desert. &nbsSt. John the Baptist
Omnibus Gratitudino
Astonished
It's so nice of you to express how you feel about the pieces. It lets me know what is working.
Thanks
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The mind has already forgotten
what the body still misses.
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My stock account: [link]
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**dream, hope, think positive and chase the life**
Did you recently change your author tag? I don't recall the purple.
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~D
& not since 2003.
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Ok.
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Protogallery
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If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary-wise; what it is it wouldn't be, and what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?
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