Friday, June 29, 2007

The attempt at realism

So, anyway, I'm here with the read-faced flush of rum, thinking on many and disparate things: all of them shining in my head; none of them quite dead.

But, like a rotten apple, smeared at the bottom of the barrel, there are some dragging flecks.

Listen to the ear. It's got curlicues of flesh that capture sound and keep it, swirling, so that one day after, you will hear something said, and think it's thought. But it's not, it's just an echo.

blog comments powered by Disqus