orgami's Diaryland Diary

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gemini three

television hisses
the sound of falling rain
on snow

there is mist all about
i can smell the river
the trees are black
columns rising to the lace
that intertwines

cold air across snow bare
feilds like a sharp kiss
awakening from the sleep
of death

how memories race like silver
fish burning their vapid
rush

there is movement
movement on the ice
and a pain twinge
the old surgery

the sun is gristle
against flesh
comforting and torn
on the plains

the candles gutter
in their votive
wells
and Im writing in
longhand on sepia
snapshots iced
and frozen in a garland
clot

all the eyes

and the tremor of the skies

10:37 p.m. - 2011-01-24

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