Followers

Friday, August 10, 2012

Lake County, Oregon


where every page
of our lives
(written
and writing;
hidden,
not hiding;
bound in flesh),

can be carried by the fistful
or buried by the wishful,
the truth
begins to blur.

the edges of arrogance
and ignorance
(startled in the open
by the deadpan stare of a needle
and the breath of a thread),
reach for the peripheral
in a maddening dash
for the past-

the first chapter-

the title page-

any
where

any
thing

but tomorrow.

2 comments:

Elly Portnoy said...

lovethislikeiloveyou. so glad your words are as free as you are...

B-u-x said...

I love it too. I'm on a break from writing, but this just inspired me and made me wish I could shake off my own block.