Wednesday, July 22, 2009


Intro-spective spectator sport - the mysteries beneath the lashes of dreams, the flights taking wings, the sands of time the reason of rhyme, you flip on a dime -

Ill cloaks itself in gauzy feathers, black and inky, souless red, the wisps of a deep burgundy rooted self hatred, self loathing, posing as something, a goddess, an angel, a sex filled raging borderline amazing :

A nothing, in case, encased in therapy...

You stare upwards at clouds, drifting away, the sky your shelter, but it gives way. An endless prayer on your knees
The rain falls, in drips, in drops,
down over the tips of the tops of the trees,
And standing is a privilege,
until you fall.

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