Submitted by syncopation on Fri, 03/30/2007 - 3:29am.
Coming from the place of heart
I am always conscious consciousness
As a star in the one mind.
Submitted by syncopation on Thu, 03/29/2007 - 10:47pm.
In the wisps and the doggéd night
Which eats its flesh scewered leisurely by firelight
On steaming plates, in heaps and mounds of delicacy.
Submitted by syncopation on Thu, 03/29/2007 - 10:43pm.
When will we believe the awakening is real?
She deigns to bridge the sinister heap and her heart is pure like crystalline obsidian. Then I ask her in hushed tones whether she will beg forgiveness. "Why?", she asks. I reply with a smile, "For caring, Chicken Little, for caring."
Submitted by syncopation on Thu, 03/29/2007 - 6:31pm.
Bridges to Tirabithia and I fell in love with her again
on the journey
from here to there.
Learning about stench of flesh alight in pleasure
and,
also,
her softness and fury.
