Tuesday, December 9, 2008

The Way Sorrow Happens

I continue to love. Which is deceptively flat, which deception I love. Life seeping through, a profluence by wonder.

Because the bizarre surfacing Prozac blear. Who is dead to the world? Some refusal seems redemptive.

So a kind of me that demands probing. Remember back at powerlessness, being trapped? This hard hint unwilling to escape.

Narrator in peril, all she can do. Beat eggs and yet is it enough? Maybe still intimates risk, that huddle against the storm.

I am presently. All the people disconnected. Place hiding behind plastic.

Farewell concedes defeat of loss. The resultant injury follows a metaphor. Real danger will be real balance.

What's the relationship between them? I love the world the way sorrow happens.

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