thetruthisthelight

Still, now. The buildings and homes stand upon a quiet earth. The taller are hollowed, their concrete bones sticking from rotted window-skin, their edges worn and melted by clouds of white and slate. The birds fly higher now, and do not often drift near the ground. Thick gray folds and blooms in the distance, pulled and worked by restless winds. Somewhere in the distance, a window slowly opens. The man's face is barely discernible in the dim. He takes a breath and leans out the window, his hands on the frame. His fingers are thin and rough, chipped nails grasping. These times have given him claws, but there is nothing to hunt. He paces restl

all the children's eyes are laughing because they know something you forgot do you remember what you wanted then? all sandbox dreams and rocket-ship the earth, from the sky. your spacesuit we are farsighted to memory, seeing only dreams where our infant past is always aglow where the sorrows of yesterday are dim in comparison, too dim to hold us to the mottled world's weight to its black and white and gray, to its taxes and cell phones and scars. do you remember do you remember what you wanted then? when the world was as new as you were and everyone around you, in their boxes and doors and shelves told you you could be anyth

speaking like disappearing ink: words now allowed to leave my crowded mouth cannot rest long enough to scar the gentle hears of others. so to speak without speaking, to leave without leaving-- the words, longing-dancing inside no longer spill out ugly and confused. they sing and are silenced upon this page.

Mother-fucker! Now that i've got your attention and godknows-what else, there's something everybody needs to know. Your mirror spits back your words, not just an image Every morning you talk to it: it tells you exactly what you want to hear. What a Wall you've built. But, words wear quicker than a stony heart. words wear wolf's clothing words were not enough. I see you a hundred years from now looking at the inside of the Earth and those nails that never stopped growing, you've polished them into shiny glass So even in death you can see yourself.

chariots carry last light to the bottom of the sunsea settling like pitchforks in coral. salmon-feather cloudmass branching, branching tips burning purple and then pink and a slitted eye is open, watching everything from the sand.