When the flowers fell down the moonlit canvas, I lost time. When the silhouette of dead cactus in the valley drank water, I bartered time. When the baby emerged from the mother's womb, I won over time.
The eyes are high and tall, gazing down the zenith tower. People waiting, are schizophrenic, with hands on, in the Fall. Standing horizontally, laying vertically, it knacks with a frightening smile, hiding beneath the exquisite arc of sun's wear and tear. Coming to a full stop, the mountain goat goes out of the milky door.
What is all this I feel What is all that I sense I do not know what to read or write I don't know whom to love This complex sphere, an utter real equation Answers are around but I can't touch them.
In the shadow, it lurks. In the boroughs, it bakes. What is? An organism, A profound itch latching smeary legs on my handless mind.
Emergency numbers are your current options. More trade vacant fire building Screw storm filter water supply one view Three - five - two - two. Photo Credit: Max Curie
I am sitting at my desk waiting for the clock to rain. Staring at the screen, crouched; my neck hanging on the noose reminding me of the freedom struggles by Alexander Supertramp.
I wish to go to the fresh-cut mountains and lie on the clean sand, smell the fragrant water, walk among the clouds, feast along the fireflies, sleep under the painless stars and bright light. Photo Credit: Max Curie
I can walk free for I am a man of will. But what do I do with this freedom? Watch the the stars at night - a hollow feeling at the end But what do I do with this light? The sun is for the subject where I go the next level But what do … Continue reading What Do I do
In the bridged wall of Wednesday cloud, with yellow shining trees, sat two strangers so apart even amazon could fit. Click! sounded the Chernobyl ravishing the nearby nano-divers, disturbing gig-a-lights. Flawless skin, colourless pigments, hiding with a slight hint of privacy. Committing piracy. This innocent smiling face started a war, consuming hundreds of paltry decimals, … Continue reading Afternoon Cloud
Person works in a caravan His brass mugshot hangs horizon high in the nitrogen Lurking for a favour installs the Greeko-Athenian with His squeaky plastic hatchet in one and starfish.