Resistance.
A wall.
An imaginary wall.
A box.
Writing like a mime?
I was trained as a mime.
Resistance is coming from what we refuse to see. However, we might not even be aware we are refusing to see. Feeling stuck. The heat of the apartment burns like a furnace. The weight of my body pulls me down. Gravity is working. Wet verticle ponds cling to my cheeks and nose. I want to remove myself from this skin.
Resistance.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
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1 comment:
Nancy,
What a gorgeous poem!
Chris
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