Not ever believable, she tried to quit lying. Actually, she did quit, for a minute. I made a decision based after a lot of thought and consideration. I would let go, cut off, forever. But I didn’t; I kept on, year after year. Now, after what I’ve been through I offer the shrine a measure of flying streamers and poignant singing.
The universe is nothing. I am a recess under a staircase. Lightning bolts melt sand. Electricity freezes into drops of cream. Strings of crystals sing in heaven. Thoughts strike me and become reality.
My friends live for the service of the poor. What kind of drippings fall beneath their stalls? It’s something that leaks out of the darkness. I have seen blue-striped partridges and whales walking over shallow hills. They make the sounds of the night and dance quietly together, with immunity against volcanic disturbances.
cool air - all these days - the end of being lied to - this is when I remind myself - remembering how
My mulberry-tree is an amazing thing. Girls like to wear high boots sitting under it. I once found a rare relic from a bygone age at its base. Just last week there was a scrap of linen nailed to the trunk, that I felt compelled to touch, as if I were imagining myself caressed by the tongue of a brightly dressed circus pony.
The summer progressed slowly for my two children. One afternoon recently, they were given each one glass of lemonade and a cup of turtle soup. They carefully removed the turtles without using a spoon. The turtles bowed their heads, not sure what they wanted to do next.
She argues that the subject matter of my art is filled with ugly statuary and other tasteless images. I have reflected on this, and think that her comments are gruesome and utterly charmless. Reality is no mere posturing but, rather, a complex mixture of tangerine-scented wind currents.
As I looked at the tiny spider in my hand, I remembered the time I had watched a black widow crawling up my arm. It was exciting to study it, but I worried about its ability to kill me with only one small bite.
I realized I was you - transposed over the years - where I first knew you again - on my horizon - as I pressed my foot into a your mouth.
A possible relationship between the rate of slapping your cheek and the facility of bearing pain may depend on the velocity of my hand motion and weight at impact. Through a careful analysis of pinkish spots located everywhere I reached an odd conclusion, and fell headlong onto a white sheet.
running the whole length of the horizon...