Monday, August 30, 2010

Read Me

Read Me

You are not six feet tall
Everything you read seems about you
or someone or something that has
touched you.

-Your skin was darker and your hair was lighter, that one season.
The people around you know you.
They talk,
saying your name like it is audacity-
You know other people have the same name.-

I'm waiting for you to contact me (
You are still only rumor here; whispers, lettered-outlines.

bio:"I don't actually exist when I'm not writing." -HP Tinker

--E.C. Well is a bit terrified by some of the things that he has encountered. He attempts to maintain a fierce and penetrating devotion to truth, justice, and finding a way. Do not assume you identify. His view is from a perspective that requires most to step far outside of the lines that have for some time been "lives". The result is usually something far crisper and desirous; far more simple to achieve than believed; and far more tantalizing in its complexity. Self-recommended doses of these can be found in the words of his conversations and the things they describe.

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