Sunday, January 18, 2009


sailing late through stones.
in the night we hide. 
all devotion rolling inside. 

Doctor: she has got a problem.
Her mother sat down, pressed against the chair, her hair pure white.
The room scented of cure the walls painted in a pale color. 
The spot light in her red almost dead eyes.

D: she is overcoming a storm of strong headed imagination. 
I cannot put into words what her head might see. 
But we can only imagine the imaginable. 
Change will overcome her. 
pulling her back into a strong survival. 
Its hard to recognize the pain in her. 
She feels free inside and her lungs breath clean. 

( the study of my human mind is as unreal as the study of fertility) 
I feel fertile, yet lack the stimulation to birth relaxation. 
(Im in a million different places mentally yet remain still)

Her mothers looks at the doctor holding her purse up right. 
Nothing could seem more unclear. 
such behavior indescribable. 
Taking herself away to marry tranquility, 
she goes very far. 

Doctor: The words she is searching are soon to be revealed. 
Almost blind, she virtually creates a world of her own, hard enough for herself. 

mother: She is sane doctor, she is sane. She is tormented emotionally by feelings that have been long lived and lost. I see her now, easily pulling in closer. closer to another body that brings her peace of mind. 

Grasping her insides, and moving to another level, the pure ease of swinging on the bottom and scraping her knees, cause her the pain of joy that this will never happen again. 
hand in hand, im sorry.

Her blood passes through her head. 
carrying her long black hair, 
over flowing in thoughts that dribble on your lips.

the female zoo