the break room smells like indian food... thanks to me! puahahahaha i have been feeling quite uninspired as of late, but at the same time am craving a change to the page (plus, i don't want to tempt a certain someone with the last posting.... =P) as a compromise, i think i'll post something i wrote last year...inextricably linked to the last one take two I. cross-step waltzing, partner-less, arms straight extending expectant hands, palming hope blackness obstructs like soot mixed with tar, but less grainy, obstructs, obfuscates eyes ears from which originate veins to heart- shaped wire whitewashed garden- seat of the soul ends of each vein, desperately, despondently dilated, they swell, quenched symphonic by slight tinkles of laughter drizzling down windowpanes: it is a rhythmic security, a friend in the dark. II. warmth of sunlight causes remains of Kant, printed immortal to be exposed to 20 minutes of dust warmthlessness in dark, a baton signifying north and south, changes directions each time the cadet twirls. even so, light grazes shadowed cheeks, magnetized and drawn transforming harsh desk lamps and searing light into fireworks barely diffused into the night like Jupiter in a coffee cup. gaseous planet emits bean steam every morning at 6 o’clock wafting from choo choo train engines from the 1860’s brushes against forehead, eyes, ears until, unkissable cheeks kissed. a lesson: earmuffs, like thick plastic covering rumbling windowless vehicle windows protect body heat lost through ears, much like the exiting warmth from my soul- british toy soldiers, marching in warm, yellow light shining forty- five degrees upwards, away from my heart the hypotenuse of a right triangle cascading heat emitted from the desk lamp southerly deadlocks toy soldier pomp and circumstance stops Returns. posted by testimonies 12:58 PM Add a comment . . .
