Friday, May 25, 2012

Thousand: Seven Hundred Fifty-Nine

name, skinny as a walrus, shy as an avalanche, melodic as a cable snapping, repeating, repeating, repeating. A sound that makes a wall. Will it shut you in? Or hold you out? Is there a gate in it? If there is, how long is the line to get through? If the only egress is a pinhole, perhaps the visitor will be a golden thread. Sh. Listen. Don’t breathe loud. Keep your thoughts quiet. Don’t let your heart howl or your knuckles crack like rifle shots. There is indeed a name. A final, firm, holy name. A complete name. The name

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