Fragile as a crystal figurine upon a glass shelf, you sit in a wheeled world muttering indistinguishable mutations of speech; drool incessantly seeping toward the contorted form involuntarily swatting at invisible flies. Kneeling beside you, I am ashamed of my normality and the piteous babble that fills my mouth with a stench as gagging as your bile bag. A conversation built of nodding replies quickly degrades to silence, our eyes signaling to each other like ships across a vast sea; the light within them born of the same father. Mine fill with tears as yours fill with the forgiveness of understanding. I will run for you. I will sing for you and wipe the drool from your face. -- Tony Spivey Copyright 1999
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