Friday, September 01, 2006


I am all wailing voice,
mouth spilling sharp stones.
They strike my feet, cripple me.
I bleed to leave a trace.

Would that peonies and violets
poured from my lips!
How they would carpet my way
with fragrance, stain my feet with joy.

I am all words and dreams
swirling in the darkness.
I balance a planetarium,
tremulous on my small shoulders.

If I fall- slip in blood or blossoms-
I hope I strike my head
and from it there will spill
a thousand brilliant stars.

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