“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label miles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miles. Show all posts
Saturday, February 11, 2017
I, Here, Rollcall
How much can a pale blue
wheelbarrow or say, heavy duty dolly
hold before the wheels collapse,
or give in, and flatten out, under the
weight of cubic yards in
troposphere?
Yeah,
we should all fear
hellfire.
The torch we carry
is a tiny match
for life.
Picture this,
the earthen crust is fourteen miles
deep,
the sky limit-about 10 miles high,
so relatively, in proximity,
we have all we need in this space
of 24...
Have you mixed your matters?
Serious as feline excrement,
one big one
is all it takes
for the cardio to come dressed
as anxiety.
All hamsters on deck,
let the race begin.
Artwork by Alphonse Mucha (1911) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
And then...
Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign, at first...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Today seems like a good day to burn a bridge or two. The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it. In California...
-
This world is not for breath for feelings also come and go. As hard and light as Push and pull Go. Busy hands and bees-electricity, alter...