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REDD STUDIOS The writings of Kevin Weir

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PART III

 

 

 

                cactusjack_iwa@hotmail.com | AOL INSTANT MESSENGER- meshface

                      copyright 2001, Kevin Weir

Exodus

In the clearing, framed with two forests. A man too sad to think about continuing his travels sits on a lonely stone. Parts of songs he learned in the city remain in his head and they make him blink. When you gather your enemies, you have to leave the place or blood may spill.

So the wind talks to him and he talks to the leaves that have fallen behind him. The unhappy sky continues and he realizes that his day will not end. Where his footsteps disappeared, he thinks of where he came from. But he couldnít get back if he tried. Itís too late to remember.

An aged robin lands before him, and tells him his life. As the robin talks, the man thinks that no matter what the bird tells him, nothing he can do will matter. So he should continue on the journey of freedom. Or maybe disappear in the farthest cave of the north and let his bones rest forever in the cold dust.

 

16 Spines In The Desert

On a desert dune, light brown and waved; the bones stuck out of the sand. Erosion eats at each side slowly and the snake wraps itself around the center spinal cord. The sun plays a classic tune and revolves in a revolution of fire that pulls at your skin until it burns. A figure in the distance approaches and walks as if someone was cared how they walked. With a hat the figure falls, and tips it to whoever may be watching as they crumble to death. Soon after the death, the snake licks the air and thunder echoes quickly into darkness. The water falls like joy to the sand and around the lifeless person. From the clouds drops the condors looking for a meal. They land to the ground and feast, the scorpion coughs and crawls under a rock. Blood to mist and another spine to the ground.