My feet are made of hollowed glass--
too delicate to dance,
too dangerous--
to trip the night;
fantastic, fashionable, cut to crystal
precision to catch the coming light,
but frightened:
tremulous and treading softly on the stone
and then the tremors as the bones
beneath begin to rise.
The sun is a gleaming trumpet.
This is their rapture.
"This journal is not a mere literary diversion. The further I progress, reducing to order what my past life suggests, and the more I persist in the rigor of composition--of the chapters, of the sentences, of the book itself--the more do I feel myself hardening in my will to utilize, for virtuous ends, my former hardships. I feel their power." --Jean Genet
Showing posts with label rapture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rapture. Show all posts
03 July 2009
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