Take a rib and just create
I am as still as the pages of a Motel Bible, black leather bound left forgotten in the bottom drawer. As dry and dusty as those unturned pages slightly yellowed from age my womb tattooed with the Book of Psalms that echo in the hollow uterine space.I am as quiet as a cup my chipped rim and discoloured insides sitting solitary on a long forgotten shelf as spiders use my porcelain womb for a home, spinning and weaving their webs as futile as the parched ovary that coughs up an egg every dark moon. I am as muted as the Wurlitzer that sits dusty and unplayed in the back of St. Gertrudes longing for fingers to touch her keys for music to spring to life inside her dark and empty pipes were even the mice no longer nest. I pray, alone, waiting vainly for words to fall from your lips like a salve to this aching hollowness. And I remain as silent, quiet and muted as the faith you folded into a hankerchief from your past that you keep hidden in the back of the bottom dresser draw.
2006-03-17 10:04 p.m.
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