While Reading The Spines Of Books ” Up, is a diary of clouds. The sky tucked into them. There is the meaning of a bird. There is a quiet belief. Down, we are bare bones of an isolated incident and we cleanse ourselves in mere water. We are played; music unable to hear itself. Deaf instruments that skirt shine but want to build monuments : cold stone and dates. We do not need war to be a broken soldier. The time we have taken – rehearsing our exit lines in black seconds. Here, in the spines of books, it is an expensive place to die. “ While Reading The Spines Of Books is by Gillian Prew from Throats Full Of Graves. poethead.wordpress/2013/05/24/a-gentle-nihilism-throats-full-of-graves-by-gillian-prew/
Posted on: Tue, 16 Jul 2013 09:51:28 +0000
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