mort mot juste

maio 06, 2008

in His mansion by the seawall

I sat in His richly upholstered chair
inside the gigantic room
the dusty room
the grandiloquent room
long postponed fate of the day
-a single obsessive thought -
that ever i was born to wait for it to come.

the waiting felt like eating an apple
in the pouring rain, like drowning
in the turkish bath,
like keeping my feet in a bucket of ice
marinating with doubt,

no more.

maria 2:17 PM 2 vociferando estavam



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