The 18th Saturday Comments

Air was sedated by the climax of memory. Whatever material gave shape to this thought, and to this path, was distorted by the bitterness of eyes. I had seen before. I am seen before! Who ‘I Am' is no more than a pentameter of purity, like veins or mollusc-fine rivers, that run deep with the inheritance of it's source. And to dive would be to breathe. For where I would stop breathing would be where I'd learn the art of suffocation. My childhood is patched in a red eye and bruises but the wincing infernity of a backward man is as clear as the profits of Dawn. To greed, from the soul's seductiveness in growth to the omnipresent fool, is where necessity forms. Like a child, the rapids of tantrum and the knot of innocence, I recoil and search in opposites.

'The smoke from an infant's habit will be your mark
But your mark will be your addiction, where loss is concerned,
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