The containers I put my experiences
in are rotting. The condensation
of blood and tears have blurred
all demarcations and the words
beginning, middle, and end have
no meaning. The artificiality
of separation has left and the intensity
of meaning is moving through me
like The Sword of Solomon as the truth
of lies reveals and reveals and reveals.
I show my wounds to myself
and say, “I believe.” Whisper,“So this is how
it feels to wear a seamless robe.” Bow slightly
at the reflection in the mirror.
-Byron Hoot
No comments:
Post a Comment