Sunday, September 30, 2012

Muddy delta baptism with q&a

How do you reply when I say that you've disappointed me. That the sky is no longer a mystery, that ventriloquism isn't enough of a distraction with the strings showing in spider spindles, sparkling with the dust (floating lightning bugs in the quiet room). That if an Emerald City sits at the end of this chipped and sun-bleached road, I won't bother to look behind the curtain to see the scared and injured little man hunched over wet stake-scarred palms, because I've pictured him many times before. That at some moments I am indignant, my best moments of imperfect rage, wanting to drown the whole goddamn world so only I may see stars and it will all be fucking quiet for once. That these are the moments I feel closest to you, in the sins we share, the moments logic seeps through our fingers like the sediment that remains when the water clears.