Id Entity What is that tiny thing that you nurture with eyes that open the night? Its cats claw the rooftops never wondering about how hard the pavement fifteen stories below is, they sprung out of numbness they cant feel the fall. This is not your life, this is a Puer tea stain billowing fermentation in blue-green clouds on a piece of parchment meant to be consecrated with words. Words made manifest in the plumes of peacocks, in the roar of the lion-eating sun, the star that beats us all into a stupor of an imagined readiness - so we rise out of the blackmilled embrace. But what are we readying ourselves for? All those cold splashes of water? The blast of God’s Arctic breath? These are such small hands to grasp the cup of a covenant with a being that exists contentedly in my absence.
Posted on: Sun, 11 May 2014 18:42:46 +0000
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