a skull of crows
1:05 p.m. on 2013-12-06
it would not be enough to craft you a bouquet of poppies from the skulls of crows, delivered with a flourish of proportions ridiculous enough to become awkward. the world is balanced between you and i. you offer the nakedness of your body in place of your soul. within you there are mirrors circling one another fragments flashing in beams of light. there is a story here, memory divided into pieces so small i cannot connect them (nothing to nothing) and the meaning is lost in the making. it is not ours to make sense of, as laughable as drawing lines between stars to constellate their meaning out of projections. we fold in and out of our selves space overlapping time like threads of a tapestry, insignificant, unaware of the part we play, only that we are.
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