TymeProse for Tuesday, March 24, 2009

We are a wild extravagance a mad gaiety a verve, a gusto a delerium a continual oscillation between extremes with bare stretches tasting like brass almost leaving a full flavor of emptiness beyond optimism or pessimism. Might we give the last frisson? Does pain have no more secret recesses? We wish no predominant note of bitterness to the full if there were one and if it were possible do we really desire to restore our appetites for fundamental realities? Sign in to see full entry.

The sliver of silver and the brass couplet round her slender neck would not could not compare to the fantasies entwined and shining round and about her tender soule like a golden rope through millions of milleniums and the mightiest of Kings. Sign in to see full entry.

She wants an ache in her belly without the wanton womb She wants to build a fire and inflame a captive She wants lightning bolts and incandescent memories She wants to find the remnants and smooth the wrinkles She wants to feel the kindred spirits of stallions and rams and bulls and drakes and she wants to stay that way even after the public shame... and the privacy claimed. She is such a disguised child, or is she is a girl? Or is she a woman-- because, who else would want to watch the face of... Sign in to see full entry.