His face opened up for a split second
gasping ephemeral black from forehead
to chin, bisecting his right eye with
emptiness
and understanding, a new tilt to what
we already thought we knew: that grin
so wicked & wanton swiftly sharpened,
keen with comprehension and madness--
are they any different?
Do we now fall or rise?
Or I Give Myself Very Good Advice, But I Very Seldom Follow It. Echo lives in a basement apartment, walls softened with photos, posters and paintings--but only one of him, out of the way by the linen
Start with putting your ego on a longer leash; you can't let it go entirely--why write if not to tell yourself about yourself--but it mostly just gets in the way of getting anything done. Next, write.
The only mine I've ever known has been hard-fought, hard-won, all bloody knuckles and broken ribs, all set shoulders and subtle sneer-- won't take no for an answer, defiance the only way I know. It's