Wednesday, May 14, 2008
When I’m writing I put brackets around words I might omit. Those that might later disappear, or fall from the page. Those that add little to meaning, but take up precious ink in the process. Sometimes they prove themselves worthy and get to stay but mostly they fall by the wayside onto unfertile verges. I think it’s true that less is more.
And these days I wonder if I should bracket my spoken word too? Perhaps I should take a vow of silence. Perhaps I’d make more sense if I communicate in broken sign language and obscure charades. Perhaps people would listen more carefully, or take me more seriously.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Some days she feels she’s filled with thistles. A prickly mouthful of mispronounced words. Meaning comes last, sensation first.
Some days he’s looks like broken glass and smells like barbed wire. A bloody perimeter, and no-one gets in.
Some days she’s packed full of autumns. Boots tramping brittle leaves. Bonfires flicker and snap and crack.
Some days he’s a walking spelling mistake. Well intended but poorly translated.
Some days I taste like pins but sing a song of threadless needles.