The complexion, completely separate now
from the landscape
something torn anew
held to the light
the creature fixed, rotating there,
heard in the fast afternoon.
The private mutiny, the shattered wilderness of your face
where the room was kept immaculate.
The innards of a clam:
the tragic sum of the things kept outside.
What passionate disarray we find,
when not fully looking in a given direction
but everywhere at once.
The disorienting climax of when something is suddenly enough.
The disorder of gratitude
What was it that I told you?
Everything is so much bigger than it really is?
Everything is so much heavier than it really is?
Everything is so much.
The simple negation of most all things.
The complex prostration of most all things.
The fascination of everything else.
words: Heather Hodges, currently: Buenos Aires (Pieces)
image: 'eggs' - Susan M. Gibb (Spinning / Hypercompendia)
another complex landscape: evidence (#18)