surrealism imposed itself.
2005-08-23 9:09 a.m.
my skin has taken to it's own replacement, burying the subtle layers, and there's so little to me these days, no more than you could rememberthe cicadas gather around my doorframe to hollow out their songs, to compromise the night with promises of short lives, and i am uninspired by
the great and many pictures i have taken, the snapshot stories that i was using to describe myself to others, this year i was an infant and the next i was my mother - there's no room for transition
between the threats and accusations, and i am found simple, suffering little children in my own flesh, or at least subduing their potential, these rites of passage leave me in passionate embraces, telling the summer to elongate its days
so that i might have more time before the last decision has been made.