11 strips of poetry
tonight, fullmoon in the clouds. sitting on a big stone in the Kamogawa writing poems on strips of paper. brought 17, but burned only three of the 11 written--which proves what a liar i am. how could i? i could justify forever, but that would be as boring as you can imagine. the first burned beautifully, better than i expected. but the second two were kind of plagued with awkwardness and some sort of giving up.
the difficulty of keeping even purification pure.
the difficulty of keeping even purification pure.
2 Comments:
reminds me of that last lamp in the cave. then it was the last burning beautifully... a moment to cherish for its inexplicable & serendipitous sense of place and timing. and there were no lies to tell because there where no truths to explain.
"there were no lies to tell because there were no truths to explain"
very nice.
'true love casts out all fear.'
'no self; no other.'
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