Bitten Clean

[italiceyeball]

I'm poised, a little reckless, scattered but intensely. Disco ball spotlight. I wish that the insight some others find in me I could also impart to myself, but. Bootstrap.

We're all a-dangle, my love
We're all hooked
Frumious and charmed
Aglow, bereft, predawn children
Singing hopes in slow waltz

Raw places like self contained holy lands, memory made sacrament. Be gentle here. Be gentle, sweet flenser. Be precise- those thin tapered fingers of yours, you spider-saint, you hungry stillness, you echo and origin, horizon, doppelgänger, your crystal ball eyes and your slow gravity sway.

It's the walls that are ghosts, not us. Not us.

Comments

[keplers_angels]

I think: quick, answer now, now while it is still a semi-conscious middle of some same night. Quite apart from the sparks of reason all sanctimonious and brighteyed of the mornings, is this kind of sleepstarved oversmoked slipping away molten hypnagogic mind that mole-blind feels by gravity and barometer alone, and mutters with precision and enviable certainty: yes.

The Cricket and the Hare

[italiceyeball]

Asked the cricket
who's the hare now?

I remembered this, knowing it had never happened. I remembered it blind. The closest is laying on grass at night staring upward, getting more lost in childhood than later on any highway interchange.

"Do your eyes see the same color as mine," I asked. "Or do we have the same words for different things?"

"Both."