by Janet Gunter
Seconds split my better judgment which worships beauty: In the absense of color, which calls for patient guessing. I flood with light, blind in the diffusion of freshly-fallen total light which calls for restraint. I scar. I have stomped, slapped, scratched, to see my own blood. My jangling nerves, indentured. Imperceptably, violently, red erases white. |