FreeFall
Well, I was told to free write (more of a stream of C) for ten minutes straight. Well, you asked for it. :] No editing, except for a run-through with spellcheck. I used the quote as a springboard.
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"Never go to excess, but let moderation be your guide."
Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC)
No. I'll fly high enough to burn my wings (I can fall only once) and drown, gasping mouthfuls of salty tears, drowning in your eyes. Who tied my hands to the wheel? The zodiac turns over me. Will I drown. I'll only drown once. And swim breath and ecstasy of eternity making my mind spin with elation. Truly free underwater, graceful now. First time. It's like flying, large strokes underwater. Hyperventilating takes care of the suffocation until it is to late and stars dance flicker in and out. Black white . Storms are coming and I am free of restraints I can fly with my hands tied to this wheel. Join me and we'll fall from icy sprays to the burning sky, somewhere your words bind me, take me, show me fire on my horizon and smoke around y mind. I would touch it to make it solid, bind it make the whorls stay for indefinite evolution of melting ice and sawdust. Dust. Straighten out the wild with bulldozers. Slash them all with a pen sliding across a mottled brown surface of a contract. The irony? It was printed on recycled paper. Your death warrant was printed on the reground flesh of your sister dryads. Listen to the sound of them calling. Soon you'll join them in their desert. Tied hands. Immobile branches. Who slipped the knife into your wound to twist it and laugh. I can see. I will see and fly. Have you ever flown with black stars dotting your horizon. None of them lights. They leave greenish ugly marks when you look away. IS this their absence or simply their reality. Does a star admire her shine or gaze dully at her neighborÂs blaze, staring at each other, smoldering resentment. Go nova, silent winds of cosmos. Can you sing? And yet you've tied my hands to this wheel. Slip on by. Slippage. Slip this page down the screen. I say silence is eternal. I die ad I will become silence. Name spoken once or twice in your life time. Past my own it shudders to a halt. It whirls forever. Burning ball of gas explodes and I am underwater free from your constraints. Tied even more tightly. And the zodiac. Sail tight. Turn tight about the cape and circumnavigate the world. Soft-heeled shoes make no sound but that expresses resentment on the polished floor. Flop flop and I am gone. Frog, hop, flop. Done. The pond ripples to silence. The goshawk sidesteps on the branch and flicks his wings, the rain thrashes the ground and slaps the pavement. Tribal dance. Would you join her? Joint the shuffling dance to the horizon. Put out the flames and drown it the ether blue. Purple skies bind my fantasy to nature. Sonnets are made to struggle with a puzzle of words and form. My form tries to raise ghost of the past. Of fame. Of perhaps quality. And the rain does not cease. Does it rain inside of me? Soothing? Solemn? Sacrosanct. Indeed.
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ten min straight.
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"Never go to excess, but let moderation be your guide."
Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC)
No. I'll fly high enough to burn my wings (I can fall only once) and drown, gasping mouthfuls of salty tears, drowning in your eyes. Who tied my hands to the wheel? The zodiac turns over me. Will I drown. I'll only drown once. And swim breath and ecstasy of eternity making my mind spin with elation. Truly free underwater, graceful now. First time. It's like flying, large strokes underwater. Hyperventilating takes care of the suffocation until it is to late and stars dance flicker in and out. Black white . Storms are coming and I am free of restraints I can fly with my hands tied to this wheel. Join me and we'll fall from icy sprays to the burning sky, somewhere your words bind me, take me, show me fire on my horizon and smoke around y mind. I would touch it to make it solid, bind it make the whorls stay for indefinite evolution of melting ice and sawdust. Dust. Straighten out the wild with bulldozers. Slash them all with a pen sliding across a mottled brown surface of a contract. The irony? It was printed on recycled paper. Your death warrant was printed on the reground flesh of your sister dryads. Listen to the sound of them calling. Soon you'll join them in their desert. Tied hands. Immobile branches. Who slipped the knife into your wound to twist it and laugh. I can see. I will see and fly. Have you ever flown with black stars dotting your horizon. None of them lights. They leave greenish ugly marks when you look away. IS this their absence or simply their reality. Does a star admire her shine or gaze dully at her neighborÂs blaze, staring at each other, smoldering resentment. Go nova, silent winds of cosmos. Can you sing? And yet you've tied my hands to this wheel. Slip on by. Slippage. Slip this page down the screen. I say silence is eternal. I die ad I will become silence. Name spoken once or twice in your life time. Past my own it shudders to a halt. It whirls forever. Burning ball of gas explodes and I am underwater free from your constraints. Tied even more tightly. And the zodiac. Sail tight. Turn tight about the cape and circumnavigate the world. Soft-heeled shoes make no sound but that expresses resentment on the polished floor. Flop flop and I am gone. Frog, hop, flop. Done. The pond ripples to silence. The goshawk sidesteps on the branch and flicks his wings, the rain thrashes the ground and slaps the pavement. Tribal dance. Would you join her? Joint the shuffling dance to the horizon. Put out the flames and drown it the ether blue. Purple skies bind my fantasy to nature. Sonnets are made to struggle with a puzzle of words and form. My form tries to raise ghost of the past. Of fame. Of perhaps quality. And the rain does not cease. Does it rain inside of me? Soothing? Solemn? Sacrosanct. Indeed.
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ten min straight.
posted by Nocturne at 5:55 PM
1 Comments:
Tur it isn't a word. I wonder. Is my mind just that much more jumbled than yours that I think "poetically" as opposed to prosody. I write what comes to mind, sans editing, sans questioning. I'd several lines of thought in that ten minutes. Swimming, trees, stars, sonnets and maybe something else. All dotting the swimming theme. Or am I fooling myself?
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