There is beauty to be found in the cracks
of the earth. The fissures that line the callused rocks of desert sand. The valleys
in the black dark water so deep, no eye has ever witnessed them. There is beauty there, right?
In the indentations of rock and crevasse and chipped chasm. The knots of mire
in the swamps that sweat by the equator. The open wounds of the world – the Canyon,
it is Grand, is it not?
The blood runs like water – it is water – I am filling
my broken body with water that is red. There is beauty there, right?
In the scarification of the soul? In the tears melded with blood. A morsel
of breakage, of corruption, an intimate connection between lithe blade and living flesh – as it
goes. Green grass sprouts from the clefts in the rocks. Fish spawn and converge
within the rooted valleys of the sea. Flowers bloom and desert sky descends into the fractures
of the red sand floor, the slice between Her legs holding key to seed and salt.
Beauty is found in the deformation of solid ground, is it not? Life itself forms within these splintered sanctums. The earth feeds on water. My blood holds water, true, as I split this skin and –
It is beautiful.
Is it beautiful? The world brims with broken places.