Monday, January 14, 2013


Love-Death by Warren Newcombe
It's past 12, but I'm still considering this time as January 13.
Your birthday!
Why should we imprison time?
Why should we think the time that just passed was really passed?
I still do not know why January 13 is important to me!
What January 13 would really mean to me?

We invented numbers.
We invented seasons.
We invented time.

You are nothing but a bundle of bones under the ground.
But I see you when I close my eyes

You walk, you talk and burst into laughter
and tears
You emerge into deep silence
Like the solid earth
And look at me
Like the glittering sun

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