Monday, August 10, 2009

February: Year-day 32

February: Year-day 32 When a soft rain in a rolling wind's whim stops my eyes, I picture grassy hills, dew shivering the pores of my washed-out skin, the peace a slightly curved thing holds, & you: woman who is to keep my compass true; & you: man of my fantasies, kind, thin: & me: tilted, torn, sniveling a blue fit, choosing neither you, nor me, nor him. A heliotrope's effects on the sun couldn't be more devastating, its stare peaking that fire's curiosity till at midday fear takes over, makes it run from that eye as rapidly as it dared to toward/ and return tomorrow/ until. -

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Rhodingeedaddee is my node blog. See my other blogs and recent posts.