Friday, 4 December 2009

Carnal Flight. Progressive Fight.

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One

Each remains distinct. A roughened edge, alert to its own despite the steady rise and fall as the swells gather speed to drop down in fatigue. To rest after fight. To submit to gravitated will.

Muted in attempt to remain, no will is ones own, as sucked in and drawn through the narrowed lines, along with the rest it lays. In a mound. In a finely balanced illusion of golden triumph, until from the heights they jump, and roll, and land, slowly raked to the side. And out of the doubled and tethered glass, it is time to upturn once again, another round. Another attempt to breathe, until hurled down once more. In defiance to stand.

Two

Sat. Allowing the upturned to drown. So still, despite the ravaging beats, lapped around, sworn into a numbed dullness. Planted firm in order to recline in a wait. Devout. For a clarity. For the final seams from the inside to the falling that devours, to be drawn tight and inspired. Hidden. Merged compliance. Convenience. A fall to learn, into hand.

Three

Surrendered. Left to learn. Each hurled and fallen to mime. A clarity to stand in time.

3 comments:

A said...

Sometimes I really wish I could understand your words. It sounds so intriguing but I can't make head or foot of it all.

Its very fascinating because all these ideas and thoughts are a part of something so deep and profound that is hidden away. I want to understand what you mean, what you're trying to say and why you're saying it.

I know I'll never find out what its all about and therefore more about who you are, but the secrecy just makes it more enticing and thus frustrating. Vicious circle indeed.

Anonymous said...

A, thats so lame!

A said...

Anonymous, you're so lame.