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Capital of the
minimal J e a n n e B e r n h a r d t |
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Your self of lost ground |
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YOUR SELF OF LOST GROUND This field to the other arc, in golden half hoops under fire, ring torn, we sleep together best not to speak your self of lost ground where silently you now follow, keeping the universe in good humor when even this is taken arms loosely bound but having the reminder constant it isn't feeling but wanting feeling the surge of powers from this field to the other, back and forth, creating a double headed I-ness, who really doesn't know how much is true or chosen? Is happiness here? Or anywhere in particular. Nor, what is meant by it or attached to it, separated in a film where this one witnesses, the other aches moved & drawn to you.  © Jeanne Bernhardt 2004 |
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