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Open To Where? On each edge there is a miracle, open innocence from Nature's hand. How are we supposed to know where we are in this malestrom? How do we bear our tears and mourn our dead in this place of circles and unreal possibilities? We are open to where? We ask and we dangle- paused on our only golden dream. We make amends, we compromise, we modify. And in the end we are left so weary from picking up after those who have fallen. The stench on our hands, from their rotten flesh, reminds us of our future position. We are nowhere, yet here: hounded with all our wisdom; deceived by our blind truth; blinded by our choice for eyes.
7/10/99 |
