it didn't happen anymore. not like it used to. it gleamed.
"tell me, what's the use then? I've spoken to every woodland creature, leaf, fungus, insect, branch, rock stream, flower & breeze. But not one would tell me what the breath means. What each moment would stand for in time. How I'd graze against you until you wake. The sun has set now but there is no sign of lunar presence. "I took a moment to collect my thoughts." "Now, unwinding clock, undo yourself. Give me what is rightfully mine. My sin is now dry. Half beaten by winter. There are things that I love. Dancing on this checker board. I've learned to hate some things"
I heaved a sigh when I realize that I was satisfied by my ink stances. "strange, but the candle is still lit. the warmth cannot be seen but it is not also dry. it is there. I am writing again. Not too long after the last breath. what did it look like?" I bit the tip of my thumb as I squinted off into the plaster wall's scenery of a sunrise's hasty potrait.
& a moment began to recall. "yes... yes... now... it is coming to me. I see it. I see its bright woolen coat hung next to the cuckoo clock." I said in an unsure husky voice.
A brief slumber took me into a prisoner's like coma. When I was awake, I could see berries strewn to the wooden ceiling as if an army of mobile were for a moment, ants drawn to a lick of nectar.
"My... today the sun was lonely. Because the moon has lost its way she sent out the shrubs and all the flowers to rid of the fruits.", I said in childlike amusement. Then I thought to myself, where could the tide be?
I quickly gathered my belongings, a sewing basket, a doorknob, & a pot of lilies, to search for the tide.
3 comments:
1.11.08
it didn't happen anymore.
not like it used to.
it gleamed.
"tell me, what's the use then? I've spoken to every
woodland creature, leaf, fungus, insect, branch, rock
stream, flower & breeze. But not one would tell
me what the breath means. What each moment
would stand for in time. How I'd graze against
you until you wake. The sun has set now but
there is no sign of lunar presence. "I took a moment to
collect my thoughts."
"Now, unwinding clock, undo yourself. Give me what
is rightfully mine. My sin is now dry. Half
beaten by winter. There are things that I love.
Dancing on this checker board.
I've learned to hate some things"
I heaved a sigh when I realize that I was satisfied
by my ink stances.
"strange, but the candle is still lit.
the warmth cannot be seen but
it is not also dry. it is there.
I am writing again. Not too long
after the last breath.
what did it look like?" I bit the tip of my thumb as I
squinted off into the plaster wall's scenery of a
sunrise's hasty potrait.
& a moment began to recall.
"yes... yes... now... it is coming to me.
I see it. I see its bright woolen coat hung
next to the cuckoo clock."
I said in an unsure husky voice.
It was a quarter past eleven.
My first record.
A brief slumber took me into a prisoner's like coma.
When I was awake, I could see berries strewn to the
wooden ceiling as if an army of
mobile were for a moment, ants drawn to a lick of nectar.
"My... today the sun was lonely.
Because the moon has lost its way she
sent out the shrubs and all the flowers
to rid of the fruits.", I said in childlike amusement.
Then I thought to myself,
where could the tide be?
I quickly gathered my belongings, a sewing basket,
a doorknob, & a pot of lilies, to search
for the tide.
I wonder if they're alright.
Post a Comment