Thursday, January 10, 2008
Words, words, words, can cling like leaches sometimes, or whisper love stories, or seduce us into lust, dance, philosophy, deep breaths and even funks. I dig a pit for myself, and words is my shovel. I step into a grave and the dirty earth of my heart is a word or two, mud raked, words i kept too long and held against my life. We hold ourselves up like strangers with guns, rob ourselves of our own peace, our own loves--with words.
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peace to all who pass through this little place.