The Coil

Look at me -extended when it’s winter and the spring attempts to blend postmaturely with the already dead trees. I was fashioned from ceramic with a powerfully romantic word on my tongue for communion – only one thing makes me human. Look at me so pretty when the leaf piles are empty, how I sparkle like a city or a late spring that’s still spinning with no appearance fees or dogma for a church I don’t believe in. Look at how I pirouette – I am just like a tree in the wind dancing beautifully accompanied by the snare of a wood-pecker kept time with my hand. I am brighter than the crocus, every cawing black crow knows this. It is spring in new December and it used to be whenever but there’s nowhere in the world it rains forever.

~ by perfectionatrix on December 3, 2011.

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