The waters rise slowly, at first - like a cool tease or flirt. But soon there's not one single inch of dry or exposed dirt. It's knee-high seas for as far as the naked eye can see. The shrubs are drowned, and there're no trunks on any of the trees. I'm sick of being soaked, and hope the world will quickly drain, and restore what was once a vast expanse of fruitful plains.
patchwork in shades of green, beige, and rust-red clay geometries formed of odd angles spreading ahead to the edge of sight & imagination so many fields in so many states - yet, all in one time & place there, I felt a tad bit infinite, being stretched from a stable center in all directions as time sprawled first to last in no particular order
the stone lotus carved in the temple wall will outlast lovers and real lotuses - such a clumsy copy
In the world of mechanical birds, birds that whir and chink and prance with mechanistic precision, I miss warbles and trills and chaotic flight paths.
a boulder balances on two points; supports erode one grain at a time - until one grain too many
deep in the cavern just beyond the light's reach lives what might be
Living like a Morlock, outside the shaft of light. Lured beyond walls of rock. Mesmerized by blue sky. Loving the thought of blue, but burnt by the mere sight. Praying for an Eloi view, but feeling it's not my right.
winter winds blow
with no snow to tumble
but bones to chill
crumbling canyon,
stone cubes in loose stacks
and yet silence
light fringed cloud
zig-zagged like a lightning bolt
in the autumn sky
