The sign read: "Flee Market,"
and so, of course, I fled.
The hawkers called to me
as I sped like hot lead.
From what I was fleeing,
I have no idea.
But I found a cheap chair
down at the IKEA.
It seems there's no need for a sign that says: "No Outsiders, Inside!" Wherever you may draw the line, it can't sensibly be denied that the outsider who steps across - having crossed - is an insider. No need to consult the rules or boss Re: the "IN" side of the divider.
To find oneself within a crate - packed inside and labeled "Freight" seems like the worst that things can get, but then I peered out through the slit, and what a thing it was to see a croc's keen eye stare back at me. It had so many freakin' teeth, both on the top and underneath! I concluded the box 'tweren't so bad. To stay a while, I would be glad!
Of all the masters & all the slaves,
I find that mind fire burns in waves.
And sometimes the emotions derail
too quickly to lengthen the exhale.
Trees falling in the forest, unheard,
can still crush a nest of baby birds.
Turns out it's not the sound that matters,
but what the destruction leaves in tatters.
The phrase “Queen of Slaves” comes from a Percy Bysshe Shelley poem (Canto 4, No. 24)
flow on, Dark River; slip through the night. midnight's thick clouds block the moonlight. your voice drowned out by insect chirr. a Huck Finn raft drifts by at a blur: the rafters unseen; their secret stays hush... but for those red eyes in the underbrush.
I'm swimming in the lake -
miles from one and all,
feeling peace and calm - when
the monster comes to call.
What could drag me under?
I'll never, ever know.
Some will always wonder
what caused the undertow.
The lake is surface calm,
and should be at its depths,
but in its muck lie bones
of those pulled under breath.
Some will swim tomorrow,
and in the days to come.
Most will come and go,
and just feel blissful numb.
The dogs of war are slipping. The ropes they are a ripping. The palms they are a bleeding, as citizens are reading of risks that led to slippage: of quips and of equipage, and how it wasn't expected, and courses were corrected, but still it all goes wrong.
We were classed: Consumer.
And that became our task.
The stores grew like tumors,
and in stuff piles we basked.
I know nothing
of the sea-bottom,
or of the darkest void.
I know nothing
of the ancients' lives
or how most are employed.
I know nothing
of an atom's look,
or how works, gravity.
I know nothing
inside my organs
or nasal cavity.
I can but know
these simple truths
that live within my mind.
That it's better
being together, and
to err toward being kind.
I stand upon the cobbled walk as scooters whiz on by, and think this world 's too fast for me, and tilt my face to sky. But there's a contrail gash up there made by a hurtling sky-tube that jets its way to who knows where - while I'm the slack-jawed rube. To match the world to my breath's pace, and watch the blur lines form, and hear each note of music played... We'd sync to my waveform.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 