In the Margin
I met them in the margin of a used book, next to difficult paragraphs and subtle thoughts.
A penciled question mark told me all I wanted to know ? about their mind.
I met them in the margin of a used book, next to difficult paragraphs and subtle thoughts.
A penciled question mark told me all I wanted to know ? about their mind.
Living on the edge is a cliché until it is not, and life hangs on a flexible razor cutting ice at fifty miles an hour. The razor springs from weight and swings your legs. Land the other razor and believe in it or you will lose it and yourself. But you cannot think about this, if you want to be fast. It must be ingrained by hours of sweating in cold.
You do not chase powder or resort experiences. You chase speed, a faster line: the elusive satisfaction of successful execution. Bend the razor, release, land.
The PR man in my head shouts for all my pleasure and pride, making their case, telling me not to wait.
“Be the loudest and you will make it. Do not weigh or consider. Shout often and loud, and everyone will listen.”
I dreamed I was on a stage trying to yell a tsunami down with every word dipped in fire like whistling harpoons from my mouth
Please let me be right for once like a diving falcon
I wish that I could make something better to express the stress I feel inside because my heart is a cannonball and my soul is an ocean. I sink deeper, down through the abyss and my eyes burst from the pressure and the sun is drowned and I am blind.
I wish I could make something better.