Sunday, October 12, 2008
Waves rocking in one direction grasping for the sky. Their effort vanishing in gushes of wet paint. He acts like a saint, I feel like a saint. The boat stirs slowly, no speed. A bird dances following their lead. So do I, So do I A void, avoid, oooh Void. There is stillness in the chaos. So it is, so is it. It is ready. It is readable in the sun: who is screaming, while we are not listening. Ever indiscreet I feast upon the beauty that is ever present reluctant to show itself in moments of... Sign in
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