“…to fill the world’s cracks with needles that will let us hear those cracks speak…”

William H. Gass

from Reading Rilke

Falling Down

 

Squirming

I know this feeling

I know where it comes from

And I know who’s leading

 

Breaking

Writing as always

Opens up the floodgates

Now it’s going high ways

 

Calling

I will not be lost

You will always remain

The one who paid the cost

Wringing

Blood from the darkness

Power from the name

And glory when it all comes falling down

 

 

*disclaimer: I am not proud of this as writing, but as action.

Crudely

The sun has set. We’ve wandered along the riverbank and trotted back. It is a quaint street. One of the many, but we gasp about “O! How lovely!” it all is.

The candy shops are magical. Willy Wonka was real. So was the Mad Hatter.

Lights from the wharf glitter on the water now. They’re adamant not to be carried away by the flow of the river.

Chatter in the lamp light. Slapping thighs and necks to massacre bugs. Old friends meeting as tea glows gold by candle-light.

The chill coming down and we rise to leave.