Sunday, 19 September 2010

2351 and no closer to lightsout

Without you.
Without death and shadows and shoulders and crows and fear of going outside of opening your mouth and saying, straying, words falling, calling your name. This once.
Knowing I me it as one two all together now. Promises are cracking, smacking, holding down your neck and veins
throbbing
sobbing and gasping for breath as I gaze
in a hazy, lazy fashion at the ground and mark the
footprints, the patterns and designs and finds on the carpet floor.

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Haven't you heard or seen or witnessed or confessed. The pope is here. It's time to move and grovel and humble yourselves to the structure of society and the hierarchy of a system put in place to make the highest the lowest and the lowest the highest and just look at what has happened. We are told of the atrocities and calamities and catastrophes but not the saving, the healing, the grace the pace that quickens in hearts round the world.
The power and the strength and the honourable push push push to keep wheels grinding, mechanisms winding
you up.

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I am the city.
I am the waves and the motions and the cars swish swooshing past the anchors and the mirrors and the horrors. I am the passing of time. The movement of molecules, air particles, tiny
miracles.
I am your ever-ending will to survive and believe and question everything and nothing and accept everything and nothing and believe.
I am the turning of the clock. The ticking of the wheels.
I am you and you are a horse-carriage, rocking, smoking, locking and halting.
Before falling.

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