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Wednesday, August 10, 2011


If you see a whole thing - it seems that it's always beautiful. Planets, lives... But up close a world's all dirt and rocks. And day to day, life's a hard job, you get tired, you lose the pattern. Ursula K. Le Guin

Her Emotional Capacity is Zero

Breathing, she slips away into her dark,
into the place where she doesn’t feel,
rare colorful times flood the streets laughing, she
is walking; she thinks like the inside of a rock,
one could say that is her concrete history,
the silent heart spread on the earth.
Once, war used a rock as a weapon,
to build a fortress, to cause a lesion.
A rock turned into a tombstone marking
the beginning of an end to a person, and
lilies were placed on a grave to transcend death,
and a part of her died as she remembers her history.
A rock to her is the foundation of church,
the intimacy of being, the sacrifice of words,
the bond of a crystalline friendship, and core meaning.
She slips away to a place where
laughter is eroded, trust is the talc on a face,
where cries of ancient bricks are heard and
haunt her insides cursing her far away ashen eyes.
She slips away into the closing of today with an iron
burden, taking hundreds of hands to bury a story;
she slips away, she slips away.

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