Shining threads

Shining threads

Thursday, 13 January 2011

A fistful of razors

He flicked a fist full of razors up into the air,

and let them slice the sounds rebounded from the speakers between all four walls.

Not one of those razors fell to the ground,

but danced, like fire-flies,

flickering reflected light back in various directions.

The will of the dancers, who had become the dance,

kept the razors suspended.

Imagination knows many colours

and razors exist only to make difference explicit.

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