It's that moment when senses overwhelm categorization
What's left the incredible futility of anything that is any less than everything.
I am perceiving: the water rushing in the creek behind me, the muted voices of children; the sweet decay of leaves as they mulch their way back to soil; the chill of the stone wall I am sitting astride-
-break-
The noise of all of this comes waving over me, lifting me back, fantasy complete. I traverse the world of dots pixels dreams across the inside of my eyelids and see the tremulous remedial ghost of haunting past.
I let go of these
fears that there will be either no ground or too much.
In conclusion the worlds of overlapped candor and reprisal remains silent
*the muted voices of the wind and children on a Thursday in July*
No comments:
Post a Comment