Rain is coming. I can smell its sweet whiff on the breeze. A storm prowls out there beyond my eyes power to see. But dark clouds hunker in the fore: the storm's vanguard. The birds know it's coming. They've vacated the skies to... I know not where.
There was a reporter named Nellie Bly: decided she'd give the asylum a try. 'Twas just for a story. Doctors lost all glory when they couldn't tell a nut from a spy.
There once was a YouTube Influencer who always ran afoul of the censor. Her most common wrong was stealing pop songs, but redacting wardrobe malfunctions incensed her.
Fictional cities pile upon each other, spreading like blood puddles until they spill into yet others at their amorphous edges. And distinction is lost -- homogeneity wins -- but that lysergic sadness remains.
late day sunlight fires the yellow temple top while shadows harden
Put the sun at your back and run headlong toward the darkness. Killing days at record speed, leaning into the terminus, and you wake up in the light and prepare for another westward run.
a weaver pokes its head from the nest, looks both ways, & decides to stay in. i know the feeling.
There was a plump man of Hyderabad who was known to be quite a tightwad, but he ate his biryani and never was scrawny. He had a Hyderabadi biryani bod-y.
There was a man who moved into the Cloud, being the first machine-mind, he was quite proud. Until someone tripped, and his switch was flipped. "Tape that cord down, for cryin' out loud!"
clouds rise like smoke from turbulent cascades -- ghosts ascending
Tiger Riding for Beginners 