permeation's Diaryland Diary
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Silhouette Cameos
My typewriter sits like a stolen marionette,
tied to my wrists like a bee
that forgot how to sting.
It is a god, that can never stop speaking.
It spells out the law, that internal law
which is truth, and never resentful.
It is so new, it blossoms between the pits,
between the legs, and from the corners of the eyes.
Law does not lie, this law of my bones.
11:32 a.m. - 2014-03-19
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