August 29th, 2013

Out of nothing this black. Always, as black likes, out of the nothing. It does not matter whether it’s who or what that is carrying it. Who is what and every what can become who.
I can move by the black, thread it, matters only that I know how I don’t.  through the door, the wall or the tiny window, come chance will be sure. In hunger, half-legged, forgotten and have forgiven, overcome, throughcome I the black. Keep saying, picking the bones off the chill floor. My child, my love, she will feign off the black, promise.
I do. Still.

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