Fresh Red Dog Pieface


Fresh Red Dog Pieface and Red Dog Pieface are Chris Church publications.

Fresh Red Dog Pieface: Thursday, April 09, 2009

There is nothing so valuable as friendship with no wording. Just the ribs of a leaf's structure, with chromosomy imagination. The leaf held in the hand, a hand over the hand clasped. Our hands. Ours to clasp and unclasp whenever there is need. It is true. Yes. A lucid understanding with only the aberration of distance past the uncleared spaces of the mind. The aberration is infinitesimal, as in the stars.

Boor. Drop. Drudge. The narrow oarlock holds the narrower oar. Confined, so. And yet the tip of the oar dips in the free connected seas and gleams in sunlight as the water flicks from its end sheening. So you, climbing your circular iron staircase, never quite seeing the open space at the top. And your shoes make such an ugly noise on the dirty metal rungs. Yet the cleared space is at the top and you can hear laughter--open cleared laughter--between the measured drudgery of your clanging steps. So why should your hope falter? You have seen the sun, and its light peers forth from behind your sheltered lashes. It is there. I have seen it.

Catch the sunlight as it escapes through the confines of your lashes and hold it to your heart. Bask in it and rub yourself with it, anoint your body and your inner body and your inner inness with the sunlight. There is enough to keep you warm all your days, even though you never reach the top of the rusty iron staircase. The laughter may be soft and hollowed, but some day you will realize that it is your own laughter and that it has always been your own laughter.

Chink. Slug. Squeal. Stop and turn around, coming back to everyday.

Slowly the point of the silver lancet of thought pierces the spongy gray volutions of brain, and up from the depths the cloud of uncertainty boils and dissipates. The sunlight, in straight rays pierced, falls to the ground and spreads in pools. Pools within pools, each cooler and darker than the last. Within the innest pool, a white arm, a white hand cupped. A knowing unperformed tear held.

My name is the Rock. The sun that beats against my sides is contained, radiated; the seas that hurl themselves upon me are pushing away, mindful of strength; my power is made up of all your little powers and as i think of you i gather strength; wisdom beats against my granite brow: you, because of you.

posted 10:55 AM

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