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Date Posted: 21:05:42 03/15/01 Thu
Author: Anonymous
Subject: syncopation

its that cold wind on a warm day, whispering of all that should have been. my life through their eye of camera obscura as the queen of all i survey. plotted fields, hospitals and churches, schools and cemetaries. concrete to protect the inconstant spirit. the rhythms of the days sway played out to metronomic timetables of arthimetic and formulae. when nightime reaches the southern fence all is still.

in a field unfenced, i, adorned muddy with briar and thistle, dance to the rhythms of ancient vibration. arms outstretched on the dark earth. i raise my arms to greet the gathering storm. the moon watches implacably through her misty veil as i turn my face upwards to kiss the lightning.

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