Oh the dirty wordless fingers come again. Where the mermaid singers. Oh when I need them. Oh how I need them. . Pretty words doled up on silver platters.
The rose is not afraid to blossom. Though it knows its pedals must fall. And with its pedals fall seeds into soil. Why toil to contain it all?. Why toil at all?.
LAURA VEIRS. Lake Swimming. . Lake swimming. Shucking free our deadened selves. Like snakes and corn do. Our bodies tore off swimming suits. And all the old notions.