Wednesday, 10 August 2011
the darkness comes, runs like a knife along the solid fruit and peers in
The cold waits and wraps around you like a scarf, it covers you like a friend who leaves you breathless and stark. Little movements push in and out the single blind like the resassurance of a pendulums' steady hand. But this is different too, like a breath, the living beast, the writhing darkness and the majesty of winter, tall and girthed in sweeping gown of black and wispy clouds, eyes veiled by the misty rain that blinds stargazers and drowned by the orange glow of the city splashed up in grainy faber. I myself am bordered by white walls; a mockery of the square, i perch askew like a monkey, i have no better reason. I linger for lack of other purpose but the lust for life. my hands claw at the keyboard searching for meaning. Not even caring if i find it, away with ye, leave me be, happy with the now, the real, the desert, whatever, just do not lean to me for the solid and the straight in this world of curve and the ethereal. I am no peg for surety and surely not a ladder to no heaven of thy reckoning.