Writings to Our Mother V | Page 23

20 new. Sit, and think, in this blue motel room nostalgia. Sit and be still, and still be, when the sun again settles in. When the sun again settles in down slender cold halls of black and blue, I drift. A vision floats in translucent greens; the movement aligns - who are you? A sound: a mouth with which to sound; a sense, in senses, to receive. I slip into : cold snaps and whispers : a green film translucency disperse : I sit Everything has become too much and so it shall become nothing, as wondering - lost - in forgiving stampedes. [Scene 2] Acid wash breath imparts new modes of implication: Sid stands beneath a bleeding willow, posing for a photo. The photographer - the writer forgotten, Though, too, with forgetting, Comes rapture, Rewrites, And treatments in prophecy [Scene change bleeds in blue], :: Director found dead I was fading, lost in mustard blues. Two owls hover, staring. One looks coolly, one laughs - in a tender way,then falls asleep. A solaric system sits near, in a discard pile of