I want to exile
from this still-life (though it is
still life), but I found
so hard even my
own motion within those stiff,
immobile patterns
of living... How knows?
Maybe there is no rise and
fall, but the gaudy
illusion; the cold,
inevitable stasis
of dried paint spots on a wall.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 2:53 PM UTC
I want to exile
from this still-life (though it is
still life), but I found
so hard even my
own motion within those stiff,
immobile patterns
of living... How knows?
Maybe there is no rise and
fall, but the gaudy
illusion; the cold,
inevitable stasis
of dried paint spots on a wall.
