Upon a dark and dreary night, the twelfth house moon shed it's crumbling facade, and uncertain footsteps took flight, unable to dance anymore to unfamiliar tunes. As the call of a loon pierced the fog, trippingly disconnected legs, branches cracking in their wake, descended into the bog...sinking A desperate soul forsaking the body, blight that it had become hovered above, reaching for the light b*l*i*n*k*i*n*g. A separate mind, traveling far beyond and behind, mossy hand tightly gripping a rotting log.. ....anchors escaping.... Unkind and unmerciful motion shaking, splitting ground; foundationless; standing pale in the shadows, quaking, breaking all ties f-r-a-g-m-e-n-t-i-n-g. A cloak of leaves eerily danced swirling around the funeral pyre, as bubbling demons rose from the depths of the mire..... SCREAMING. Twirling misty cries and forlorn muddy good-byes hung heavy in the cold wet darkness in decibels deafening; no more disguise, draping retrograde's backward misfittedness in silence, holding captive the mind, burying time..... .....not dreaming...... in the fathomless riddles of the universe, but more of humankind, defying the line in quite peculiar cadence unrelenting. © Sarah Gallant 2001-2002 |
| THE BOG |