a skull of crows
1:05 p.m. on 2013-12-06
it would not be enoughto craft you a bouquet of poppiesfrom the skulls of crows,delivered with a flourishof proportions ridiculous enoughto become awkward.
the world is balanced between you and i.
you offer the nakedness of your bodyin place of your soul.within you there are mirrorscircling one anotherfragments flashing in beams of light.
there is a story here, memory divided into pieces so smalli cannot connect them (nothing to nothing)and the meaning is lost in the making.
it is not oursto make sense of,as laughable as drawing lines between starsto constellate their meaningout of projections.
we fold in and out of our selvesspace overlapping timelike threads of a tapestry,insignificant,unaware of the part we play,only that we are.
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