In Phosphorescent Thickets...

we're on the hunt for a haunting, lurking in dark corners, answering old telephones...

talk, talk to me... bzzz... bzzz...

Sunday, December 5, 2010

La Chambre

Posted by Harlee Logan at 3:16 PM
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Harlee Logan
a proclivity for strings, the sea
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The Absent

They follow me up the beach
carefully stepping over tire
ruts,
glancing about, stepping into the surf,
sighing, whispering, lagging behind,
not wanting to impose, my lovely dead,
still distracted, surprised by eternal exile.

~Philip Schultz

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  • ▼  2010 (7)
    • ▼  December (1)
      • La Chambre
    • ►  November (1)
    • ►  October (2)
    • ►  September (3)
the moonball stayed just out of reach beyond his fingertips, balancing up and down as if it rode a breath of air. but it never descended low enough for them to touch it, and a strange transparency, enveloping its familiar shape, made it seem more out of reach than ever.

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