By sarah 30 Jan 2002
I don’t think many read my blog. I am more happy iwth this poem than anything else I’ve written in the past year. It was a total epiphany that fell off my fingers while listening to robert fripp and david sylvian play ‘exposure. It still makes me smile.
Blue broken veins of my lover's ore become nuggets of memory on my finger and at my throat. They still beat as they reflect the light in constellations of past pleasures perfect. And recollection's slow reconstructing of every failure and angry word into moments of crystalline joy breaks my heart into shards of regret.