martes, 24 de mayo de 2011

Clock cracks out the hours


"Wind and storm colored July. Also, in the middle, cadaverous, awful, lay the grey puddle in the courtyard, when holding an envelope in my hand, I carried a message. I came to the puddle. I could not cross it. Identity failed me. We are nothing, I said, and fell. I was blown like a feather. I was wafted down tunnels. Then very gingerly, I pushed my foot across. I laid my hand against a brick wall. I returned very painfully, drawing myself back into my body over the grey, cadaverous space of the puddle.
This is life then to which I am committed."
             
                                                                 WOOLF, VIRGINIA -  The Waves -





(Photograph: Desmond Donnellan)



Antonymes - Lost In Waves Of Light by Fluid Radio





D r i p dripping of a long forgotten tap

your ghost it dwells
along the mildew
among the empty
oyster shells

B e a t beating of a long leaking heart

your echo swells
along the stained
among the damp
alcoholic smells

(watered down nauseous waves become)


Pinpointed

in loose fingered
crumpling pages
yellowed lines
hooked
to your delirious
mazes
(and our breath sweeping along the clock cracks and the spider silk maps, stops.
Teeters over the edge, caught at the blades' tip of such an absolute. )






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