Sunday, February 15, 2015

the sound of words

Think of a landslide; rocks grinding down, stones rolling, bounding, a low mountain groan with drumbeats of boulders. Think machine gun shots of fear.

The first is dust blotting the sky behind; the other is the spurt of my blood.

This was what I was trying to find the words for, but now I have no use for them. So I can let them go.