Monday, February 11, 2008


The branches and leaves
They twist the wind
to hushed swirl tire
And many a forest
animal a fire
their shrill trill.
[But they only endow the silence
with an unworried entropy.]

Wake up to early morning
breakfast cereal digestion
Eyes skitting the time
Unworried, unwary?
But the taste is forgotten
In quandries potential and lost.
Until the 8 starts juices flowing
And Head, a Bustle-Fuddling TIME.

The pages slip away, away...
Across torrential darkness
Through a void of weariness
Whipping up a taste for nervousness
Erosion to a lovely apathy.
Distilled to a turgid clay-mess.

Will it all fall away
The rude mould made?

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