Monday, February 23, 2009
I am weepy, this bending Willow, weighted by circumstance and the chance of place. Placement. Where to be, where to put the feel of my self and the lack? I am bending ever downward so far the sky will only be seen again if I were to be on my back. If religion is nothing but geography and genetics is your destiny then the place mat on my kitchen table will hold my dish waiting to be filled, but my stomach cannot stomach anything I have to offer it. With a dry mouth and eyes that won't stop leaking all their secrets I long for a time when time was the promise and green was. Green was. For now I Weep. For now I am bent, and the shade I give my self will not last.