embrace the potter's wheel. Perhaps, instead of clay, time. Or color which is another way to embrace the energies of food. Or words. I can feel it all. My hands are the perfect translators.
steering the forlorn ship, we set out for long island and the birthplace of my majesty, for it was on such a windswept hill that i once ate lobster. Into the ice bucket the grownups dipped their dirty hands and out lunged a mad set of eyes, daring to be boiled. i did not feel the heat, or the light, or the ensuing corruption. i only knew the pleasure of ripping apart another creature and devouring it with approval from the crowd. what they teach you on those summer nights, what you teach others later. all the circles and the drooping sand dunes of our early days carry a certain sadness around with them, gulls looking for it in the ocean, a pristine sky on only side of the country, and you, my battered dim memory, coming back now and then.
steering the forlorn ship, we set out for long island and the birthplace of my majesty, for it was on such a windswept hill that i once ate lobster. Into the ice bucket the grownups dipped their dirty hands and out lunged a mad set of eyes, daring to be boiled. i did not feel the heat, or the light, or the ensuing corruption. i only knew the pleasure of ripping apart another creature and devouring it with approval from the crowd. what they teach you on those summer nights, what you teach others later. all the circles and the drooping sand dunes of our early days carry a certain sadness around with them, gulls looking for it in the ocean, a pristine sky on only side of the country, and you, my battered dim memory, coming back now and then.
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