Natasha, Natasha, Natasha
Henry says Natasha once, and this is the most perfect act of all-- the naming of the existence of her. Existence of her! There is more poetry in the names of things, and things alone, than in all the bombast of thunderous Milton.
Henry says Natasha, Natasha and it remarks of the two-sided world. One side is all earth, a pile of soggy leaves, mud, blood, vomit, the discolored bruises of a hard fall. The other side is Emprean, breathing aether, more subtle than light, and we are all both things-- although how could that ever be possible?
Henry says Natasha, Natasha, Natasha and Natasha has become numinous. Henry is an amnesia victim then, and remembers nothing, and can think his way through absolutely nothing at all. All Henry can do is spin, spin, spin.
Henry says Natasha, Natasha and it remarks of the two-sided world. One side is all earth, a pile of soggy leaves, mud, blood, vomit, the discolored bruises of a hard fall. The other side is Emprean, breathing aether, more subtle than light, and we are all both things-- although how could that ever be possible?
Henry says Natasha, Natasha, Natasha and Natasha has become numinous. Henry is an amnesia victim then, and remembers nothing, and can think his way through absolutely nothing at all. All Henry can do is spin, spin, spin.
posted by Henry at 4:36 PM
1 Comments:
Natasha is sometimes a better idea than she is a person. She does not want to be complicated nor does she want to complicate you.
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