eclipse Posted August 9, 2011 Share Posted August 9, 2011 In a graveyard the wind skims my bald head and I am led to a robin handling a caterpillar in its mouth much better than my body copes with an unwanted guest with as many legs- that has a lease. The robin seems drawn to my camera and proud of his breast as he perches on a gravestone-if I could only make a parachute from his red feathers and land in his dreams. Later I take pictures in the park of a vagrant opening his arms to embrace the thunder and rain and a fire-eater sheltering under an archway trying not to show the strain of eating too many flames. Somehow the vagrant manages to ignite the fire-eater's wet stick and swallows fire in torrential rain. On my wall at night, the robin's red and vagrant's flame tame and devour darkness. A fiery moon became my medicine like a tablet- I swallowed it whole as treatment for my soul, its flames following a distant call from somewhere within and a clear tumbling of my unwanted guest. In time, my red hair regrows and is snipped- and moments in time are snapped and ultimately, like the hair, they are lost. Each memory is as fragile as a hair and hair is easier to shape than those moments in time. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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