~~~
The flowers I pick
Die in my hand,
But flowers I can’t
But pick.
Photo’s my own.
The flowers I pick
Die in my hand,
But flowers I can’t
But pick.
Photo’s my own.
Awake. Bladder. Keep the eyes slitted to suggest to brain I’m not awake yet. Think as little as possible. Frankenstein-movement to suggest to brain still very sleepy. Pee. Back under quilt. Duvet because it’s cold now. Sleep.
I said sleep.
Lord,
I believe.
Help
My
Wisdom.
He unearthed
His knife,
Dipped it
In clouds,
And heaped
Them upon
The morning
Molten petals sweep
Into night.
And awaiting awaking,
I breathe,
For I am the mastodon.
I am the birdshout.
I am the awakening
Night.
Have you ever watched the sea? I’ve only really watched it from the shore, and not that even that much.
It moves like breath. In, out. Like the back of a child, up, down, as it sleeps in its crib. A heavenly hand caresses it with cloudy touch. In, out.
Dreams sleep there. Water fairies and krakens and pirates and the sky. The sea holds our dread, and it holds shores.
Wood pulp,
Dried and bleached by sleep,
Laid and stacked,
White for writing,
Dropped from a height
Christ
------If not
----For Love,
--Fear would
Win.
He rebelled. “I am not your son. Just look at me. I’m 2 feet shorter than you.”
“I have the records to prove it.”
“Hand them to me.”
Swipe. “There’s your records. Insolent boy.”
“No! My records!”
“Brain. I need a word to describe darkness.”
“What quality would you like to modify?”
“It’s night, and there are no stars, so how about just ‘really dark?’ So, intensity.”
“Would you like a modifier of the same category of contextually-determined primary-quality as ‘darkness?’ Or would you rather something of a different primary quality?”