Friday, April 3, 2009

Fragment 23: Blindly

Bright lights on Houston. Up, as always, far too late.

Counter-intuitive this, you and I, rationalist and artist.

Who would have known?

Dark skies over the house, waves loud out the window.

A kind of blissful isolation.

Perfect mornings, days even, in your arms, in your orbit.

If it is all a blaze of glory, then this was a glory differed. A sublimation of self.

A sense of stillness stemming from another.

And now not knowing you.

Not knowing you.

Red skies in the morning.

A sailor's warning.

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