today has been a surreal dissolving of one thing into the next. the rain turns into a broken cup.
packed and ready i am reminded of a box that belongs, now -- to a ghost.
a train crawls above the abyss, where one mountain joins another. . .
in the light of eternity i come back to myself, my small self. with a big bag packed full. under rain that makes heavy. the just-that-dark way of the clouds.
secret title: "i fed the assassin's horse"
hekatombs of blog
soon, i will breath in the mythical night. i will witness the dry eroded circumstance.
i will look into the eyes of the painter, the photographer and the reporter.
i will step into the vaults of the venetian wall.
i will massage the sun baked stone with my painted-toenail-toe.
i will face the moon carved sea and ask her to guide me.