rope dancing

[...] a thin line separates the whitish ceiling from the light blue wall in front of me, allowing my thoughts to walk on it as if along a knife's metallic edge while trying to not fall in any of the two shallow unicoloured worlds fringing that path that leads towards the unreality of my ramblin' dreams. *breathe, God damn you! breathe!* a shadow goes, a shadow comes, my eyes refuse to blink, staring at that line, enjoying the salty acupuncture of tears that try to save my cornea from drying up due to overexposure to oxygen. the taste of basil tea still lingers on my tongue, for fault of some more sophisticated flavor *BREATHE!* - I wonder if angels' tisane tastes just the same, like boiled holy water...today I'm lazy in my moves and words, thinking is just another level in the topography of my agenda, but that thin line is so appealing, teaching my gaze how to tango on it, how to ignore the stridence of sunlight's chords as they jump with joy on the skin of my hands and on the striations of my iris. winter is shooed away from the lands of my silence and I'm suddenly glad that death decided to pay me a visit on a spring day [...]



Poetry by Lilly Negoi
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Written on 2013-01-05 at 14:22

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countryfog
That thin line is the last thing I see before falling asleep, the corner in my bedroom where a spider has built its web, small and unprepossessing as webs go, but then so is the spider. Some days death comes to it and by night there is only the husk of a fly or moth to show that the spider has been there, though I have seen it only once. In some strange way, that it is there has become important to me and the web a place where I leave a few thoughts about life and death, and sleep less troubled dreams.

I'm not sure what death it is that came to pay you a visit . . . and perhaps that is for each reader to decide.
2013-01-05