Friday, August 21, 2009
Sketchbook: Sundry Steps on a Marrow’d Path
I fumble with rooks in my palm. Flipping each between my fingers like a panhandler with a quarter,I slip my tips into their bare underbelly one at a time. Becoming their marrow, I tap my thimbles against the desk. The queen remembers her fear of exposure while sifting through the first spring of hope. Everything we did was done again down to the words said. I ask myself if there is solace in knowing it was all just a Xeroxed copy of us. Illuminescent eyes while sucking the honey dripping. Sigh. Plucking each rook off the fingers one at a time, sucking in my breath, I command them each to take two steps forward. I call out my horsemen next to ride this night sky and bring me back the king.