The Chemistry of War
That there is more than one of him occasionally comforts me. One who gentlemans my path retains his high regard and bookmarks anger somewhere I don't think to read. Another stays away, as though I am a human weapon with invective toiling in the summer grass. One more of him is motherless, confines me to the recognition every moving part is glass. See-through identity that creases one whole sheet of the addendum. Chemistry between, perfect in symmetry. Within another life we'd dance, but here the boundaries wash out immodest differences. How do we know each other in familiar darkness. If by vision and not touch, personified by blades held back, instructive as the wild blast furnace never keeping to itself.
Hands with worth in them, full blend of blades and sanctions
Sheila E. Murphy | Simile
Contents | Mudlark No. 8