Saturday, August 8, 2009


We do not curse the circumstance, the o’clock of the morning or the failing of caffeine or amphetamine or pneumatic anti-lock brakes. We do not praise the response, of paramedic or emergency room surgeon or rehab nurse. We do not question the result, a thing growing slowly as a crystal, following a pattern smashed, completing the matrix described by the forgotten past.

There was a man, thus. There was a truck, even so. There was a breaking, followed by a building up. This is theory.

There is a slamming of doors, a throwing of pill bottles, pain that dribbles out under cover of veiled insult and suicidal ideation. There are days of hugs and kisses and apologies, and nights of why and what’s the point. This is reality.

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