Small graphs, 5cm squares, profile cups.
The outlines of desire.
Were there milk cows?
Beer? Medicines?
Perhaps even tears to be drunk, a common, crying grail.
I wonder about abundance and loneliness.
I wonder about their teeth and the shape of them
revealing bloodlines, age, the frail sweetness of life.
I wonder about a man protecting a child in death,
different faces, their graves
a diffusion of different faces.
See here-
each one sitting round the boiling fire pots, sipping cool in summer and warmth in winter.
Every day, repeating rounds, circles, until something happens, a cup or a body breaks, is buried.
Then the wait - needing another to love, to hold, to drink.
Other buried drinking beakers are fine, perfect, prized, waiting with the broken bodies for something else too. Something hoped for, to be held in the clay, to be held eternally.
Look there. Nothing but the thirst for paradise.
The outlines of desire.
Were there milk cows?
Beer? Medicines?
Perhaps even tears to be drunk, a common, crying grail.
I wonder about abundance and loneliness.
I wonder about their teeth and the shape of them
revealing bloodlines, age, the frail sweetness of life.
I wonder about a man protecting a child in death,
different faces, their graves
a diffusion of different faces.
See here-
each one sitting round the boiling fire pots, sipping cool in summer and warmth in winter.
Every day, repeating rounds, circles, until something happens, a cup or a body breaks, is buried.
Then the wait - needing another to love, to hold, to drink.
Other buried drinking beakers are fine, perfect, prized, waiting with the broken bodies for something else too. Something hoped for, to be held in the clay, to be held eternally.
Look there. Nothing but the thirst for paradise.
