my ink_

i.

my ink Grows
greenly
in the deep blue Sea of
(V a s t, this)night,

sending roots
down deep, tendrils
up and out
— a r OUnD

in anticipation of the break
(ing of soil,) of dawn and
s w e e t a i r —|

but for now, Rest.

Satisfied in soily blackness; Rest,

swept by weeping curtains of —    —     —Rain
this night in the reservoir.

~*~**~*~

ii.

you see,

you must understand: a river
runs, maze-like
within my flesh– R – u – S – h
– e – S in, between, t Hhr OU
gH, over and around my
Veins(sTrAinInG

(–but not to bReAk–
capillaries coping, coping,
coping) with aged, Sorrowing Salt:
insidious. Deathly.

…vein-deep blue
is my color yet. and BlaCk…
like the night of a sightless embryo
adrift in a windless sea.

——-

iii.

my ink Grows
with an Invisible
hue; its living color
fades into nightly
black-and-blue
Pain.

…feels like all the
growth is in
Vain.

c. Mary Kathryn Gough
3/2/05 1.52 pm
edit: 5.13.06 10.36 am london
edit: 5.13.06 5.39 pm london
edit: 4.23.12 7.13 pm wales

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.Rest~

.rest ~

why is it that by night the world draws on

garments of familiarity (comforting as

an old and beloved blanket: a gentle guise

devised of moonlit floors, leaves over-

shadowing walls with quiet motions and

nurturing instinct, nursing over-

stimulated eyes with a simple cadence,

simple cadence,

cadence…).

{darkness}

the secret of the garb of night is in the breeze

and in the .rests~

between the rhythm-of-raindrops(both.singularly.

and.as-a-body-of-water-musically-migrating-

through-space-and-time), the secret

of the garb of night (slow and soothing as stream-

trickle) is simply complex enough to join

hand-in-hand with the paradoxes of love and

union. night’s brush is soft, forgiving, and slow.

mentoring

us

companioning

us

year upon year

upon year upon

year,

ever so

constantly

in fasting with

abandon.

without rest, all

music becomes bloated

dischord.

c. Mary Kathryn Gough

2008.07.08 2.44 am

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