Saturday, April 28, 2007

bullet holes of a ground variety

in a time of no time, everything would happen before it could happen.
And it was in one of those moments, when The Creature emerged from
the edge of a green, salty lake. its skin was not akin to salt, and
its tears were of fresh water. through the cries of creation, long
lines of black ants pushed their bodies beneath the creature. the
insects made a song of their marching which calmed the child toward
sleep. no mother could awake from such silence. not that creatures
have mothers.

not long until dawn, the blackies had made their way to a grassy
plateau and laid the creature at the foot of a small, immeasurably
deep hole. as mentioned, this was a time of no time, and in no time
at all, moments managed to pass indiscriminately

the ants, nowhere to be seen, insisted harmlessness. helpful even.
some even interpret caring, friendly. after a very long period of
this No Time, the creature had awoken. this creature was not cold,
nor hungry, nor frightened, yet it cried and cried, as the born
often do. ....
believe it or not, this characteristic is as common in creatures
as it is of mortals. the creature was not hot, nor uncomfortable,
nor unsheltered. this creature was merely lonely, and as it flailed
aimlessly upon the grassy plain, it made slices of its fleshy
appendages, cut on the sharpened blades of stiff, unwielding grass.
The Creature's tears were not salty, but its blood was.....and
the ants felt their calling. these soldiers of good intentions thus
began to feast upon the juices of the child, as if it were the bleeding
heart of a freshly opened, and of course, salted watermelon. ...................................
cold and sweet and seeded. Cut into squares, in a clean white bowl,
on the porch of shaded house in southern georgia.

absolute perfection of the white light

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