Monday, April 11, 2011

I am green and I don’t know where you are. In the night you brushed my hair one strand at a time and they screamed aloud I told you to be gentle. Nothing matters apart from the sound of the red glass tinkering and the waterfall. I have the Niagra Falls in my eyes but no one cares about nature any more. I am red and pregnant with years of miscarried delusions and incomprehensible metaphors legs sewn shut mouth sewn shut eyes sewn shut with the thread of a figurative phallacy.

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