Friday, June 14, 2013


There are rapids in my thorax. I discovered this while being held by a quiet German woman named Ilse, crying into her breast, being held like I have no memory of being held. Magically, she adjusted me onto my feet and I experienced the possibility of being held while upright. Being held, as opposed to holding myself. So what holds me? This week, the answer is: the river that runs through me.

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