From "Dust"
Our dead skin is flaking away and leaving us, our cells dying and vanishing. More silver in my hair daily.
Dust of our lives, eye grit, detritus - we are too lost in its swirl to notice how many worlds there are within
two people. And how, when those worlds touch, the whole web lights up, every strand. And it was dust
we fought about so bitterly: dust on the piano keys, under the coffee table, insinuating itself into the
computer keyboard. Dust that may be vanquished for a day or two but always returns, creeping,
seeping, too humble to be humiliated and thus invincible. Dust of our own bodies, their seat and longing,
illuminated in a stream of sunlight just for a moment.
Alison Luterman
__________________
Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats. - H. L. Mencken
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