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September 27, 2006 | | Comments 0

It’s Nearly Morning

September 27, 2006

It’s nearly morning; I’m sitting on the red-braided throne, I see my father smoking tobacco and drinking coffee, pondering what had only begun yesterday, while not finished until a forgetting placed him back on that subject again as though he’d only begun it once… Before was always seemingly his now.

I see his wife and then look at his empty hand, it’s resting and imitating of Death’s setting heart, springtime’s fireplace and the sunken lance of a warrior classmate, pitted by salts and the pressurous working-gloves of Ocean.

I love them and embrace the forces of rest, silence, quit, longing, exhaustion and might, glistening inside this clear lagoon of quartz liquor, drawing me to bathe, like it or not, to drench all that I hold against these two people and the spirits belonging to my body’s cells as well, in the lateral sunlight’s vast emotion of studying the Right absorption of the shame of Conscience.

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