I am his mortal wound,
the dark marrow thread
embroidered
into the twists
of his double helix.
He is the puppet
I will bleed out
over time.
I have so much
to undo
and so many
bruised realizations
to unfold.
My work is sundial slow.
A series of broken faces
framed in the mirror
is my exhibition.
Every earnest promise
and yearning word
falling into a despairing
sea is my song.
I am his mortal wound.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Bleeding Out
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3 comments:
brief dip back into blogworld before returning to my desk shackles. open g is indeed fun although i have even less idea whats going on with that than normal. i can work out from g at the nut what the chords are when you barre it up the neck but the one where you do the extra two fingers (as in almost every rolling stones song written it would appear) - well i've no idea what that is. ho hum, back to work, and to just piss me off that little bit more, i've run out of pot with no prospect of a resupply for at least a couple of weeks. oh woe is me.
Hello. I was here too. You ride a bus to work? Those people exist in America then.
I do ride the bus and walk to the stores and shops even. Not many of us exist in America though. I believe many here are trying really hard to burn through every last drop of oil.
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