TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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05.11.05, wednesday evening
The earthquake had knocked the little skull-headed couple off the center in their red window box, the mirror behind them reflecting my dark eye. They face the left wall, wondering why they are looking at this wall when they should look forward, out the glass at the rest of the world.
Alas, the coffin is sealed shut for good or bad and only a hammer can pry or smash them loose. The most pertinent solution is to re-enact the original tremor: yes, carefully shake them, these two in their wedding best, back into place.
. . .
Most favorite poem today, this month, this year so far.