Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Honesty Is Such A Lonely Word

It has been a year of surgeries. I
nurse self inflicted wounds. I have to claw
around for a word. I've cut the throat of
every word I've ever known. There has been
a rockslide in my body, an avalanche
of words has given way. It crouches against
a hillside like a cat backed onto its
haunches. Granite, snow-like, flutters in mid-
air. I mark each flake, each tiny dust-grave
with a cross of incremental self-betrayals--
inaccessible word. Former friends, past loves,
take flight, shove off without me. I retain
nothing of their unctuous fire. I lie in
a sullen plot of falsity. Words shuck me
like a pea. They walk past me at a slow
and tidy pace. I may never be heard by
passersby whose conversations recall what
once had been, what had been said by whom.

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