March 2011
5 posts
We two remain: yet by what miracle, searching within the tangles of my brain, I ask again, have we two met within this maze of daedal paths in-wound mid grievous stone, where once I stood alone?
-H.D., “We Two”
It is a strange life, patterned in fire and letters on the prison pavement. If I glance up it is written on the walls, it is cut on the floor, it is patterned across the slope of the roof.
-H.D., “Prisoners”
