a failure in the language.
2006-03-31 1:06 p.m.
in true form, i'm a celebate season, holding fast to the cold before the spring unearths me, before my bones can open up their mouths to say the harsh things they have been holding, before i will sew up the marrow and smile diligently, because i'm a dedicated daughter, i'm the spirit of an empire, i'm a garden reaped and weary atwhose image his interest repeaks, resets itself into times of longing, come bearing up the fruit that makes the seed that makes us holy, comes making response to needs that i have replanted, that i have forgotten -
i retreat, and take to other voices, take to holding up my own on this end, take to trying explanations for the change, for the shrinking of my posture, asking
don't confront me please, asking,
notice that i have gone under.