Wednesday, July 22, 2009

B is for What? Prose? Really?

(c tracy write... c tracy write more)

salt stains the sea with white and this face with lines. a trail that leads from broken hearts straight up throats and then -because they are stifled by lips - travels further up and sits on the edge of The Window waiting to commit suicide... jumping off the ledge and unto the face. it leaves only salt behind. evidence of endless questioning. evidence of a sharp tongue, a doubled edge hand or worse, a double minded mind, conscious only when conscience is appeased. but look! over there! do you see? another one... falling to its death as it crushes its body on a cheek bone. only the salt remains. like the sea. permanently stained. - 02:02:09 ©tjh

songs, words, phrases rush through my mind. are there truth to them? is there truth in them? words, songs, phrases rush through my mind. are there truth to them? is there truth in them?
or are they illusions? vain musings of a child who wouldn't take "no" for an answer yet couldn't live with the consequences of "yes". three things ever i longed for. God. Knowledge. and a Good Woman. and i beheld them to be ONE. for Knowledge is God and a Good Woman leads you to it... To Him. they were not mutually exclusive. but something happened. this was not the Triune i read about. i sucked a tongue to extract truth; i opened my ears to to hear a whisper; my pen stood ready over a blank page; and my mind... received too much information and not enough clarity. the fault of course lay with me. to squeeze three thoughts on to one throne. my view is skewed. perhaps Knowledge is a Good Woman and God leads you to her... songs, words, phrases - truth? 02:03:09 ©tjh

my tongue tastes funny. i feel bile. it wraps itself and goes to sleep after a night of dancing upon its red carpet. too many words. too many meaningless words - fugitives from my heart have taken to running again. flushed out by new laws, these squatters have moved past the room with with the voice box till they arrived at the source of the true action. and now i can't escape this taste, this vicious taste of corroded metal. words that have no home... but squat on my tongue. - :03:09 ©tjh

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