Something told me to write this out front.
In the field of time.
Where no time exists!?
But listening to the sadness;
that echoing sound.
LISTEN.
From the depth of my shadow-figure are. . .
bones -licking my skull. . .
inches of the image.
Inches - inches.
My "no mystery" beyond time.
This conscious framework of sanity.
Longevity.
Personal refuge of emotional suffering.
It all began here.
And now I needn't rest.
The weather is fine.
It's killing time.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment