You sent me an empty cardboard box via messanger in the winter, after you left, and I thought, What the fuck do I do with this thing? Later I realised that discernable contents were not the purpose of such gifts, so much as the act of saying, "Here, I have something in store for you," and that even you, who gave this thing to me, emphatically and with great fanfare, with bows that tangle effortlessly in my fingers like pale, irreverent snakes, so that I am paralysed and restrained in ways I can scarcely begin to untangle, and at once the gift was so conspicuously tactile in it's presentation-- do you know what I mean?--that even you can't see or touch it, and you do not know what you have given me, or what I have taken. In fact, there is only this: the presence of some vaguely defined and yet distinctly present exchange, and our absolute freedom to make of it whatever we would.
> I love the way > rock > turns to gravel > in your hands. > .................................................................... > > When the present folds into itself, it > emulates a paper crane and flies away. > This day will fall--surrender to the dying. > All our wants, all our grasping, they unravel, > like a peel being pulled away by Time's > murderous claws:it's bloody mouth laughing, > devouring us and all our foolish ways whole. > > You thought as I thought, that somehow we held > the clock. That we could stop and at our command, > Time would obey our mortal hearts. > But this present flies, and tomorrow comes-- > with all the promise of a beautifully wrapped gift, > But inside, alas, an empty box. > > > > > > > --------------------------------- > Do you Yahoo!? > vote.yahoo.com - Register online to vote today! _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
