Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

September 02, 2007

untitled draft

My mother's skin

and mine, carapace

that I wield vehicular

through urban

spaces; not my own

but my mother's

coming from out East,

from the megapolis

of scraping ruins,

and they ruined her

skin and made her soft

as a peeled peach. The rivers

hardened me, in youth.

I am myself, floating

away from my mother's city

through thousands of meters

of mountain and ice.

Posted by Delire at September 2, 2007 06:06 PM
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