in sum: this is the day i will not
label: todd. neil/todd. dead poets society, dammit.
sissies: if you haven't seen the movie, it's not going to make a lot of sense. it probably won't anyway, but whatever.
legalities: don't own, don't sue.
i say: dead poets society. for the contrelamontre three senses challenge. sight, touch, sound.
muse: ethan hawke cries so pretty. "avalanche" by matthew good.
you say: all comments appreciated, answered, and archived. firstname.lastname@example.org.
they are too heavy, their voices, they say they say and they don't know anything, they know nothing. i know this
the Snow is like the white of your belly, my footprints black and traitorous across it—My fingerprints on your skin. whorls into cells, I press because i want tracks and trails to follow, to follow, one foot in front of the other.
The ice. thin, ruined, cruel. I want to Walk into the smudge of dark, trees. out of focus, horizon, sky, nothing, an opening like your mouth. Your. your eyes. beacons, Banners I will follow, dark banners above the ice
there are no Doorways. Only white, and then grey, and then. And then death. We are food for worms. You are. and I follow. behind you, behind, your scale of white and grey and darkness—teeth, oh smile, oh skin, oh eyes and hair, oh.
Simple. To move. One foot in front of the other. to fall.
snow Scattered, small shadows, i will not touch you again. my fingers are cold.
there's always dancing in the rubble, I think. there is always lifting up, to lift, your body. A pyre, your body, song swelling around the ghost of your body. I do not hear your voice my voice is weak my chorus is weak the light of candles is weak.
Music organ and strings of sinew across my throat. the hymnal's cover is warm and worn against my palms. Like your palms under mine because. you in the scull. You. oars in your hands. voice trumpets strong over the lake, an echo of wars over. Water, the swell of water under over blades. Song around your body.
song around my body, weak voices and thin light winter light through pocked glass. Dark wood. Dark of your hair, your flush darker than pink but not red. school colours.
We raise you, we raise you but you. we lift and your life is. You are too heavy, my dwelling, my dwelling, I cannot dwell in you. you will not rise.
there will be no dancing. my lungs are too empty for Amen
you have. You have left, what you have done, what You Have Done.
It is. It is one day, know this. One day. this is the day i will not
and what you have done.
I keep the hymnal because. i am afraid to forget your hands.
and the smell. You never, your skin never smelled like old paper, but now. Now i think It Does. your eyes were like old paper, old books, the comfort and. warmth.
it is night, you know. Know This. It is night, and I am on my back in the snow, i have put snow over my face because. i am afraid to forget your skin. I am afraid of forgetting, know this.
The hymnal is in my hands but i cannot pretend. know this: It is cold. i am. i am afraid of never being warm again.
What You Have Done.
you have done to me