February 08, 2006 - 11:44 a.m.
trying to speak in someone
else's language, i cut the mother tongue
out of speech. (forcing my brain into linguistic patterns that feel like acrobatics)
I found pieces of paper with red ink poured across their surfaces in varrying degrees of urgency.
trying to force language to feel like thought.
replicating the inside - outside my head
on top of my tongue.
when i speak, English sounds like hyperbole, like flight- uncaged, disconnected thought.
The rain washed this city last night
Bare-faced and open.
tricking the secret path of decay
down below sea level
below the line of sight
I washed open my conscience
and spilled for you
laid myself out on the table
in a sea of cards
flushed and no longer able to bluff
and i flipped my hands over like new leaves
blank and white
still red at the edges.
