visions
I rose like a giant seashell to fan the earth, squeezed my thighs together in a knuckle of white stone, bright like the morning.
the sun cuts through the shower curtain like broken diamonds. my words echos off white porcelain, a canyon of angels.
the pages of the book fall off my fingers like white feathers ripped from a wing.
the animal lay on the road, exposed skin like the flesh beneath a torn nail; spongy, innocent, and strangely bare.
The blooms of roses like open sores. memories of clotted blood swell to unshrinkable grievances.
night rose like a silent mother and I climbed into its shadow
the sun cuts through the shower curtain like broken diamonds. my words echos off white porcelain, a canyon of angels.
the pages of the book fall off my fingers like white feathers ripped from a wing.
the animal lay on the road, exposed skin like the flesh beneath a torn nail; spongy, innocent, and strangely bare.
The blooms of roses like open sores. memories of clotted blood swell to unshrinkable grievances.
night rose like a silent mother and I climbed into its shadow
posted by margaret at 5:17 PM
1 Comments:
WOW.
if ever i pull off some crazy oedipus action and lose my vision, i'm going to beg you to remind me how beautiful things are (or can be).
margaret, you are ridiculously talented. i know that you must know that already, but sometimes it's good to have simpletons such as myself say so.
thank-you for sharing
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