.
. . is an inevitable energy, sidereal, attacking unexpectedly stealth
quiet in
a
whisper become typhoon
Least
I bore you, lending information you might wish not have heard . . . I
will natter on regardless since it is love: what’s about. That
which we all have genius for tho for most it is smoldering ignored
within our hearts.
The
Interlocutor seems to be playing a role saying, “eejit boy dance!”
I lurch about spanking my hip with tambourine feet tattooed taping
frantically twirling my cane propelled about as a helium filled
balloon flapping across the stage.
Contrary
to all former drama/traumas this has, within and about, a sense of
quiet reverence even—awe. On both, or all three parts—the
narrative characters within at play. Of course obviously I speak only
for myself. She, as I informed her, is free to dispose of me upon
next sight, shooting me if so inclined; my “Audition.”
While The Interlocutor simply smiles silently—chortling—or what?
Out of sight—off stage behind the curtains . . . from which, at
times, I sense a Shepard’s Crook about to appear yanking me away.
Ain’t
no Knight in Shinning Armor about to rescue the damsel in, or about
to be, distressed . . . perhaps merely a dragon dressed in motley
bells jangling on my claws.
My
concern:
I
sense myself, internally, too intense, as recently annotated
“ferocious,” but that may be merely vanity; and an exclusively a
male ideation. Reminding me that women have always been the creators
of civilization and the vessels from which life is reproduced.
Ricocheting
through my mind: licit, illicit, elicit and what has happened: M gave
me life and P let me out of my grave . . . and open ended rut . . .
no pun intended but, god help me, I just adore playing with words!
Writing
has become a way of making the invisible real—silence audible . . .
and at the moment I am squashed with the sense of precisely how much,
why, what and whom I love. . . .where, near, far or invisible
.
. . my vote is always towards love incarnate
130515
05:57 MDT love @ any time . . .
©
2013 by Jack Spratt—All Rights Reserved
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