Untitled - July 1996
In the form of
   harsh calendar days
Like mysteries spread out across weeks
spent alone, looking for answers.  I
took it all inside, let it feel welcome;
absorb itself into my whole self as if
alabaster was my skin and the wine
 of memories was frozen inside.

  Then leaning itself out across
a wilderness of hollow emotions, the echoes
played it all back, on a theatre 
screen made of flesh and the exotic taste of
the sea on my lips and eyes.  Embedded 
within cameos and lockets - hidden in
each chamber of my still beating heart.
The blood burst forth in a throbbing
that kept me awake at night
and ignited the burning of a soul
as if the celebration of birth for
every living thing on this
planet was taking place.

Brett Emmerson Wyatt - 1996

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