Wednesday, December 15, 2010


having spread the wings, twittering and gnawing against the bark, the creepers nigh through the winds :
out of the basic cone that spirals down the spine.

at the foot of the spine is the breathing boots:
lungs of the womb that soil the soul.
they need be there, at the foot, ugly and grim, dirty with tentacles of dreams,
it need be there- silent and scarce to the eye.

else, we need the shades when the solar schemes shine.

Image: Creepers, Prague; by self.