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Sunday 12th November 2006.

Well IT,that big day in the cosmos is about to erupt to the sound of the ticking clock,and no going backwards,or simply standing still,yesterday is a lump in the throat,tossed off bulges in the trousers and only i will ever know that instant awaken in the dreary half light tomorrow morning,how will i feel,no worse,perhaps no better will lost images dance the melancholy two step,will voyeurism ravage me in the streaky hawthorn bushes,perhaps i will sink under the weight hanging from the ball bag,i can but handle that, it is the mental fight when i want to gnash teeth in the upper crusted buttons on a fly folded inside indigo joe.
Half captured on the rough road,pebble dashed in white, always white..What if virgins ever wore black where would that take us or is it simply me dog tooth death in happy valley streamed in riverlets,droplets eatable,or maybe swallowed and then what of taste..gosh been so long pork pies taste.Instead the jelly rolls around, squirms,squashes and is gone into the zone labeled eat by eternity does that mean trinity has escaped,no possibly a happy wanderer now thrusting into fishnets ploughing old scores in pink boots,leaving no tread on the earth no sign of ever treading


( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
Nov. 12th, 2006 09:44 pm (UTC)
IT is a day, regardless of whether or not you feel melancholy upon waking, someone somwhere, a heart beat away, across the big pond, will be waking with joy for the day that brought forth the life that has made hers all the richer and worthwhile for the knowing of you.

I would that I were able to command you feel joy on the morrow. But there are limits even to what a Mistress can order. BUT I will let nothing diminish the joy I feel for the ticking of the clock, the sounding of the hour, whenever that first was, that began weaving pink ribbons and slivers of silver moonlight into a talisman against futility and despair.
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