Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Thousand: Nine Hundred Seventy-Three
I called in favors. Where it ended it had to begin. A new religion was crafted out of old mysteries. I don’t think there’s anything in that bag of tricks for me. In the empty head a candle is being situated. The flicker illumines the cavern but only a piece of it, a corner. Your mind fills in the body. The trail is cold because the snow covers it with a white blanket. Muddy pawprints decorate the comforter. We will be nice to each other. We will be kind. I can name that song if only the chorus will sing.