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Thursday, March 03, 2005
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Hurtling through dark forests, night lit and snowy for eons until all memory is erased. No origin, no speed, no point at which the parabola will again come to root. I am the derivative of the derivative then: the rate at which velocity is changing. something hard to define.
Then your eyes touch me and i am a light. We bend and sway twirling words in the air that may or may not be the shape of our desires. We want and pray. afraid to draw the lines too clearly lest the magic be dispelled. I grit my teeth & close my eyes lest they set the world to blaze.
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