Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Untitled


Untitled

Two asterisks run swiftly across an open field in hopes of finding shelter from the morning shower of our half-formed ampersands. Stumbling as they move along, they help each other up that they may both still carry on.

In a house of hanging mirrors, one says to the other, "Stop, wait, listen to me. We could only go so far." We stop and listen, pausing for a second; "such fragile asterisks we are..."

Our hands are half-formed ampersands.

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