My photo
There is a space between what we say and what we think, and that gap is never fully realized. But we can continue to try to connect the points, and eventually maybe we can get somewhere.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

54 (disco version)

Jumping from the platform
into the dusted sand
far below the edge of the concrete cliff,
a crevice of camel colored creases.
I lie here a jumbled mess,
a decomposed abstraction,
seemingly in pieces.

But as my eyes move in moments
slowly towards the water,
the expanse of ocean,
ahead of me,
I feel the weaving of my skin
twisting, tinging, tip-toeing together,
tiny portraits of myself transmogrifying,
alchemized and microscopic.
Who knew a hand or face could be so small.

And as my skin stretches and connects,
the wind soothing the heat of the minuscule contractions,
I grow momentarily into.

No comments:

Post a Comment