My brain is an angry sac of neurons: hot wired / electrified. Sizzling synapses ready to snap and spew seedy scenes upon this world. But no one hears a scream in the dark void of a barren mind: though the scream radiates outward as a painful wave of unknown origin & purpose, a tremor in the fabric of us
the city's curated garden is both more & less than wildflowers
Do you feel unease, walking in tall grass? Visceral tension? A primal impression from a time when a wounded beast [on its belly, & with labored breath] retained enough energy for one last lurch to impale its hunter? A raspy groan or bloody burble, and the jerky wave of the grass might be all the warning one got before The End.
Being lost is underrated. Overblown: devastating? But you've not seen what I've seen: a world that I could not have known, had the signs not been overgrown. And had I not ventured beyond boundary lines, and tried my very best to find some ancient item - long lost to time. Stumbling, weary, but wanting more; I wandered, knocking door-to-door. But none could tell me where I was, because they couldn't see me from above. All they knew was that I was "here," and so, it was as I had feared. Because I'd left to get away from here, in search of some magic where -- an unknown "there," far from here.
There was a girl who fell in a well, but the well had steps, so all was swell. To not be a bore, she jumped ten times more, but back home had to explain her fishy smell.
one coffee plant sticks out while all others fade into dusk
i walked the rutted road in failing daylight & wondered what I might find when it turned to night & milky moonlight would be the only means to see & i hear the relentless chirp of a bullfrog that can't be seen because it's everywhere to my non-directional ears but still i look for it & i step into a puddle & my sock is squishy with each left step & i go home
in the savanna, a butterfly finds one bloom amid the dry plants
