Monday, May 14, 2012

creativity 2.6


I have spent so many years trying to be silent. To not speak of the sensual and to let be still all those ghosts that long for silence within my heart. I have no more room in my heart for propaganda. There go two beats, pushing blood, pulling me along down the road. One foot I place in front of the other, mesmerized. I see my body being covered by moles. I am watching the white chickens eating their feed. I sit and watch them for hours. Could we become one?

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