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life sometimes turns into a single point of , so tiny and dim, so barely there... just a single... it.
then it can unfold and turn into the thinnest silky strands, like hair, long hair quite deep below a glistening surface of an ocean.
then clouds of strings, as if paint first met a glass of cold clear water. A body almost, an illusion of one perhaps?
At times there're solid ribbons of life, rich and ornate and strong.
Then there are sheets of interwoven fabric, silk perhaps, sometimes, then again a carpet, and...
Thick curtains, lush heavy softness, the colors somehow...

Then solid metal, a wire, a string, a rope...




and again layers and layers of translucent skin,
a wind?,
an upward movement?
edible air?
a sweet pure thought?

which one of the many shall we ever wish for?
where are the words that say: life?
could they possibly be hidden between these layers and layers
and layers of layers?

1 Comment

no, i looked.

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This page contains a single entry by Witold published on July 12, 2003 5:22 PM.

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