Sunday, October 25, 2009
In the distance swans versailles along the lake. I think of a number between one and infinity. Little swan bottoms rake the water, trailing twos, gold a great band playing its light on the surface. I want it all to add to one, the girl beside me dressed so unlike the two swans, avant garde, fathomless like all women. Lake tide swirls in million fractals of mud. Her breasts too must curve outward from her seething cell hive which is one instance of beauty’s test to hide the limitless unbroken yell of things converging, doubly-down, the hell of separateness her smile cannot quell.