Herself a carnival, a masquerade, her performance ripped
her off. Doubling, weaving, unravelling a marvellous Ariadne spool, dreading
Jason and grieving the Minotaur, the magic realism did not take off. Like the
plastic-fed albatross, her wings were crow, splendour doused to black branches,
and she was a tree.


She remembered:
“She was a tree of the earth
Unable, unether, heavy as sand
She could not fly, effortlessly transsubstantiate
As sparkling energetic sunshine.

Man cannot live without a root to grasp.”

This disturbing sense of return…








Your view?

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s