Textling #38

If it weren’t for the piercing pains that plague my skull, today would pass in a blur. The purpose of limbs, throat, eyes, is clumsily drawn. Pain’s location is precise though, bull-eyed, electrified, and I, limp litter, fritter my life away.

Something is pushing through, perhaps a Zeusian creature? Let her be a juggler of words and worlds, a cosmonaut, a poet, a crocheteer, time-traveller, dawn reveler, purveyor of truth, rude, raucous, rowdy, proud fool, doubtful philosopher, dreamer of wild and dappled things, of ruckus, touch and ecstasy, courtship adviser, turncoat despiser, cloud racer, tracer of ancient mores, bread for guns-inciter, roses for knives, sybil, seeker, memory keeper, grace dispenser, falsehood sensor, kind heart to all souls, translator, vindicator, sharer, mapper, reader, connector, rebel rouser, boundary browser, maker of peace. One who speaks to all and sundry, declaims in tongues I have never heard, from rooftops, molehills, underpasses, and straight into my ear.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Textling #38

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s