THE FOG
|
moon phases � |
Arms outstreached I am moving.
Forward, to the side, I am not sure.
Shapes emerge and scrape gently over my consciousness and submerge again into a wall of white.
A black and lonley skeleton reaches toward the sky but which way is up
All things loom in space and time suspended on a cloud near the ground.
A rattling seems to be coming from above
or within
The ice is melting and flowing in a cold river
It muddies and molds the shadows hanging over my shoulder.
written at 8:16 p.m.
January 13, 2005
Miss something?
- - January 26, 2009
- - May 26, 2008
- - April 09, 2008
- - January 21, 2008
- - November 24, 2007