Saturday, April 27, 2013

All texts are reproduction

Under just a milding patina of history, what He's personally mixed and physically dipped into is right there in front of you, and it's not mimesis. More an organic splatter. A squirrel might tie some straw into knots with her toes enduring succubi; perhaps a serpent inadvertently smears your name in green scat against the glass of its cage one night. My littlest bitch once gathered sticks and bones onto the patio from every corner of the garden and patterned them into the rough mosaic of a Christmas tree.

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