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|About The Caretaker|
|Where Credit Is Due|
Literature -
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Dénouement These things I say to you are lies written and written, and written again to pass the time between spaces and sentences and breaths taken. This is the wilderness in my veins rushing in my ears, water whispering like the crickets sighing between walls. Needlework of enemies calling softly through trees fireflies and darkness passing from one side to another the ballads of love and warring hearts and nations. Our bodies harsh screaming jungles each rib a notch of distance, a battle won as we fall again into tangles of each other (when the phone rings, it is your voice) I want to hear, violent like water as we fall into the fine sunlight hands curving against crescents of flesh moving on and against and in. These things I say to you lose their sound and hang in the air above us like a trembling jewel --m.g. |