Catherine de Ricci

Climacus before Catherine, attempting words, paces the edges of chairs, tables, of features of faces with his eyes, with his hands.  He tumbles ice in his mouth for twenty-eight hours with his hands around the cup of ice. Catherine seperates into a mystery, Climacus seperates and sleeps, dreams, wakes from noon until four. He waits while she prays. Amen

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s