Friday, July 21, 2006
I have been sitting at my desk for hours; I have been drinking in information – my soul and spirit are numb – I have been dealing with the growth of others but I feel shriveled, dying. I am overloaded in plainness and painfully dry of rainbows. My mind has been subjected to regression as it thinks backward into the norm. I hope to spring the trap, unlock the doors and set a bunch of students free from the narrow boundaries and plain words of the skills that bind them by being small like little rooms with almost no windows. My sorrow compresses me – I’m boxed in until I can work the locks. I ache to be free but carry my prison with me. I am the cat asleep under the car, in danger but I can’t wake from some crushing dream. I long to peel off skin and find a poem.