In a message dated 12/9/01 1:05:09 PM, [log in to unmask] writes:
<< The Split
As I sit here rocking
from my arse to my heels [like this, very physical in its image]
ensconced in a corner:
do you know how it feels?
When the bubble has burst [something else perhaps?]
and the last straw been placed [here too?]
the last thing I want
is to see my own face.
After the cadence of crying
and the rhythm of sobs comes
baby puppy dog whimper
and desire to be lost.
Lost to the future,
to censure the past
with a cortorized feeling
[like that work cortorized - fresh - not in the dictionary but different -
like from the heart]
I must stand now, stand fast.
My rocking has finished,
for the night time at least,
as the dawn’s blaring chorus
brings the tap of small feet >> [like tap of small feet but from where do
the feet come from?]
I can feel the pain in this poem.
kol tuv, Ryfkah
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