Telescopic view into your ever eluding mindscape. You move in and out of focus, frozen in frames, farther than you seem, closer than ever. Would my angry muse talk to me again I shall paint you in colors that don't peter, ink you in words that seep deep within my skin, sculpt you anew with careful hands. But my inspiration speaks not to me…and the aching silence hisses the literature of dystopia.
Build me an applecart of perfect order. Place one unquiet memory over another, one hurt over one heal, one you and one me over the silent inscribed presence of all those who came before and left after, till an intricate pattern frees us of the double bind that binds us.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Between the Pages.
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4 comments:
Don't know what to say. The expressions... haunting.
Heavy! Too heavy!
@ noisy autist - its all a fluke :P
@ WIAN- heavy as in unbearably cumbersome? :D
"unbearably cumbersome? " would tax my Webster's, but, I meant nothing of that sort, I am sure.
Heavy as in a meal of spicy curry for one with a weak digestion.
And your writer's block , is it over or what ??
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