It begins with a name and a face, but between the thighs a lover's eyes begin to disappear. Death in their arms is not always imminent, but when it comes you know better than to move towards the light. Streets paved in glass are only appreciated when you've lived for twenty years through damp summers and dry winters. A stroke of the ego and the prelude to a vigil is born, honoring the DNA of unborn children smeared on pillow cases, bed sheets and broomsticks. The memory of others and the promises of brothers bring the wholesome back to one.

11/06/2005

Posted on 11/06/2005
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