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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4098 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Adam Treezaa (T.E. Ballard) think of him as the little man in the corner of my ear swinging from a lobe, his small feet dangling in and out of love. We are interchangeable the same as the woman separating her life into paper bags. Her hair is the color of persimmons. A fruit of passion, a fruit that will not sustain like apples or oranges, a thousand black seeds that will grow from her belly like trees. But you are not her these are things that you see and she is on a ship floating somewhere. The white boat on blue like a infant’s first print, his small foot on the wave of paper and they hand this to you even though he is dead but we should talk only of love because it can be manufactured. A spool of thread, a bottle with its mouth begging to be kissed. Sex, growing from the glass with reflection. It is true. The child may have grown into a man. It is possible his existence would have been fruitless, his mouth questioning everything holding nothing. It is possible his hair was red with the color of lies and that his tongue never would know the taste of an apple. |
