Sunday, May 17, 2009

moribund pronunciation

Life is much smoother when words are not like cadavers passed to your ears, without fulsome syllables that lie on your tongue. Sharp. Higher and higher they rise. A cacophonous gathering. Banging and kneeling. Gasping. Breaking glass: a sea of you favourite portrait of your past now a shadow. They will not absolve you of your sins. Brown eyes dip low. Then you stop. Your flow of words backlash. And everything seems to die.

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