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comfort equals full use of the body for communication

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a letter to Lucy. part 1
The ideas...The thoughts... The wishes, hopes and dreams clouded with high mountain snow, freezing heavy, falling slow down by train tracks...You let yourself alone and the whole world watches bombs fly far away, from home, killing through the glow, drinking tea with cookies and worried that the weather might inturupt reception... In the basement I can dream again, with my nose plastered to the inseams of books, naked under the sheets, sometimes sweating out words to pages unseen... All that is spins, reels, fizzes, bangs about my head when the lights go out and the candles are lit, breathing heavy, heart beating loud, the room shaking and the cieling bending in but I push it up like I had a flagpole, like Samson gone completley bald and then growing hair again, holding the weight of an empire above his arms, balancing destuction and yet more justice across his cock...Evil trys to slip in under the door and I welcome it, with arms open wide, smiling like an gargoyle, reaching out to kiss and caress it's body with oils and perfumes. I let it lay with me in bed and tell it stories of times before land mines and cottoncandy, when the earth did love its moon and sun, when plants did grow, when the sky was still blue. It takes flight knowing it has been tricked into submission so I can bite off it's head and tail and swallow it whole. I leave the doors open, it will be back. I read and injest books like bread down here where winds can't reach me. The stars don't see me, the sun tries but can't touch me. Me like a troll under a bridge letting no souls pass. Some bloodline or another comes down and shut it out with cruel looks, beaming curses, letting it think I still cannot speak. I lay down here, alone, and touching myself, calling angels, casting spells and brewing juices, letting my body twist and climb over the walls.

- david lee wright

Submitted: 11/12/2001 Printer Friendly
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