Foolish Weblogger Child

I stand on the threshold
under the street lamp, one side
of my body covered with flakes,

and think about good and evil,
the point where one is distinct

from the other.

[Don’t try to be master in everything.] What you once won and held did not stay with you all your life long.

[Tom’s most well now, and got his bullet around his neck on a watch-guard for a watch, and is always seeing what time it is, and so there ain’t nothing more to write about, and I am rotten glad of it, because if I’d a knowed what a trouble it was to make a book I wouldn’t a tackled it, and ain’t a-going to no more. But I reckon I got to light out for the Territory ahead of the rest, because Aunt Sally she’s going to adopt me and sivilize me, and I can’t stand it.] I been there before.

The world now laughs, the grisly veil was torn,
And Light and Dark were one that wedding-morn.

The Story Girl was gone.

And so I step up, into the darkness within; or else the light.

The lake is quiet, the trees surround me, asking and giving nothing.

[O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside.] You can
hold on or let go.

My heart does not bleed, she tells herself. But it does.