| san cristobal, chiapas |
[20 Jan 2006|11:21am] |
[a series of vague attempts]
nothing is the way it would rather
seem, really. street signs call
and follow even in broad daylight. answers
find their wake, and fond of the
sound it makes, they join the dance;
unashamed, finally, of the way their
movements lilt, the way they clod and
skip up and down our view
of things.
above this lace, see the sky -
same as any sky. see the people -
same as any people. words now are
satire and the stomach speaks unkindly
of home. the knots are doubly thick
and broad as any idea of them.
so what does the day know
of language or not...itself
a verb and modes not
corresponding to human thought?
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| chiapas |
[20 Jan 2006|09:19pm] |
these shoes have danced with clowns
and scuffed themsleves
with ancient earth
and the feet inside them have
suffered the scathe
of what it is and isnt to
get
exactly what they deserve.
meanwhile going to getting
is not what one finds
as how it moves or is obtained.
i will eat and have my moments´
worth.
and then it goes and is gone
into the red mountain sunset.
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