THEY WILL THROW DOWN their sandbags at the foot of a tidal flow that is fed by the nourishing delta-heart of creation, and thus can never be denied. Tears of hatred, tears of Vicks, scowls carved to appeal to the Working Middle Class, nails buffed and polished to protect their fine linens and thin skins…
O,
how hard it is to see you
as brightly veneered your face
as quickly as you leach
the color from the very walls of time and space
IT’S THE LOVE, OF COURSE. The love in people’s eyes. That’s what makes them recognizable, what makes them come across as strong. That’s when we trust a voice or a hand; that’s what makes us beautiful at all.
I am far more comfortable navigating the in-between than I am in any Place. I like no thing as much as the coming and going from one to another. It is on the purpling beaches of dusk and the roseing gauze of dawn that my true eye shines lidless and I see so much more than in broad daylight.
I’VE LOVED THE DAWN FOR YEARS because I like being alone with the planet when the sun rises. I like beginning before the street does, before the noise does, before the thoughts in my mind cramp and clutter in clusters and shooting diagonals and bubbling up antagonals, before the exhaust fills the air and my lungs and dulls the day into evening.
House of Nezua
the XOLAGRAFIK theater!
