l i f e
vesuvius
contributions
christopher@30seconds.org
"Such a word means much more than it says, makes me, still alive, play a ghostly part, evidently referring to what I must have ceased to be in order to be who I am."
andre breton, 1960...
Someone recently asked me who I am and it sent a shiver down the back of my shins. My calves contracted and I looked over my shoulder. Several times. I stared out my front window at the half moon. I poured a drink and stared out the window at the half moon some more. I looked at it through binoculars and then a telescope. I took a picture. Each time I got closer to the object, but stayed just as far from the meaning.
Everytime I look at the night sky it's like a starfish growing back a torn appendage. Some new little piece to help explain just who the hell I am.
Then I recall with fond memories other seasons and how...
It can seem on a balmy night
the world is touched as was Pompeii.
When ice is an impossibility;
the cries of birds, heavy breath
on the neck, sing hot whispers
to humid souls.
Framing desire their tears wilt flowers
leaving the moon to cast irregular
shadow blown over by the mercy wind
from the fan and the bellows
up much too high.
Who are we all?
goodnight 12.05.97
