Once stabilized-we could then be reminded of how fragile
the required tension taut us to be
and to react with white gloves, as pallbearers
and with two hands for beginners- cradling the whole
as a complex system, which blurs and softens sharp connections
so it may be held.
But the etching on her body, overall
scars showed those nasty inclinations,
she had to write it out in masonry, chipping in at the impenetrable castle,
where kings tried to hide rule with heavy brute paws.
There were others, outside, they were callously shooting arrows at her place-
those all loaded with poison tips are arched in equipoise-
as in heat seeking entropy.
Fear could not move her out of
The Way.
The wind picked up her scent,
Something is dying in a dark corner, over there-
It is freeing itself from form
inside its dwelling of singularity. Invoking a greater depth,
at last she lingers over this.
What sounds like whimpering is the art of her inflection.
The walls were caulked thick and swelling.
None heard her screams at the point
when the knife went in.
They all looked down at their toes,
wondering where they had been going...
Alas, there was none left to ask.
None had seen anyone pass through.
Long forgotten, the woman picks up a stick and tosses it
back into the bone pile.
Familiar with the general vicinity,
she knows every stone has a name and point.
Of Origin. And this,
is how mountains are moved.
the required tension taut us to be
and to react with white gloves, as pallbearers
and with two hands for beginners- cradling the whole
as a complex system, which blurs and softens sharp connections
so it may be held.
But the etching on her body, overall
scars showed those nasty inclinations,
she had to write it out in masonry, chipping in at the impenetrable castle,
where kings tried to hide rule with heavy brute paws.
those all loaded with poison tips are arched in equipoise-
as in heat seeking entropy.
Fear could not move her out of
The Way.
The wind picked up her scent,
Something is dying in a dark corner, over there-
It is freeing itself from form
inside its dwelling of singularity. Invoking a greater depth,
at last she lingers over this.
The walls were caulked thick and swelling.
when the knife went in.
They all looked down at their toes,
wondering where they had been going...
None had seen anyone pass through.
Long forgotten, the woman picks up a stick and tosses it
back into the bone pile.
Familiar with the general vicinity,
she knows every stone has a name and point.
Of Origin. And this,
is how mountains are moved.
Painting by By Richards, Albert [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. "At the Village of La Plein- There was constant watch for snipers hidden in the village, 1944".
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