To the Artist's Page To our home page
To Candy M. Gourlay's next piece
Pieces of Agony Reason pays attention with one ear. Small voices want to speak with thick lips; want to plead, like men on death row, for their lives. They pilfer strength from weary sinew, "I am so sorry. Please believe me. It was never my intention to cause pain," emerges, stinking like yesterday's vomit on a road trip. Crawls then, slowly off misery's face, as if it is a clot surfacing from treachery's scab. "Sorry is something you say when you accidentally kick a dog or knock a bucket," Sitting in silence, an imbecile urinating in shame's underwear, I think, yes, it's what you say if you forget a name, or step on someone's shoe. Onion skins of complexity carve letters into wooden air between us, want to write themselves into meat of memory. What is a word? Frailty's use of language becomes a demonstration of emotion, a piece of agony waiting for rain to fall, to bleed darkness down windowpanes.
To the top of this page