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Saturday, September 04, 2010

Before My Eyes

The length of time stretches and squeezes, like melted rubber or a Salvador Dali painting.
A dizzying array of typography-
Letters and numbers and symbols, lined up like prisoners stacking into dimly lit cells-
Suddenly losing purpose...

O, I would rather be in New Zealand contemplating the sheep and grass,
the bellows of white clouds and the Great albatross and the Great sperm whale

Or be a faceless figure walking on stairs, eternally frozen mid-motion, unsure of his dimension
but still part of the grand design

Or be the hand behind the green veins of a porcelain face
whose only flaw is it's perfection.

she's not here @

1:08 AM