Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

December 07, 2004

Cut Throat

woman in courtyard small.jpg

Blood of the world spilt
then burnt black. Each ginger breath

While spaces open
and close for us, footsteps fall
and then are drawn back.

Blood of the world spilt
deep as oceans, hatred still
deeper as the cause.

The tides of progress
and regress cannot be told
apart. They're the same

All directions lead
to the same instant moment
happiness, despair,

Entrapment of lust.
Our ravenous teeth are starved
for flesh of meaning,

A cause to stop for.

. . .

A haiku chain, though these twist traditional haiku subject realm.

Photo taken in Yazd, Iran. Cook/Evans, 2001.

Posted by Delire at December 7, 2004 10:43 AM

hi mo, i cant email you anymore. what your address is?

Posted by: jesse at December 13, 2004 07:29 AM
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