Photography And Half-Thoughts By Mitchell Hegman

...because some of it is pretty and some of it is not.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

The Purple of Night

I wake late in the purple and bruised part of night.  My arms and legs have turned into cold clay and refuse to lift.  Moonlight spills liquid and heavy as mercury through the narrow slits of my bedroom window blinds.  Night without a single sound or scent.  But somehow I know…my dead mother is there…
--Mitchell Hegman

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