January 6, 2012

Terrorized by my own brain, upon release from thunderous shackling and crashling dreams, I set out for the Grand Canyon equipped with alcohol and books about perception. I seek transformation. I seek shelter. I awoke and wrote these words in a foreign handwriting not quite my own:

"There's sorrow in residual,
and perfume in tomorrow."

I am gripped.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Followers

Blog Archive