Adjusting The Lens
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dusty blue roar rubber, squeal trax enveloped by a familiar trail. green grass of 1923 black and white. Same as the trail exactly the same in 1973 but colored. the tan brown twin ponies in motion. Rocket dreams, spurting, flying singing rubbing cosmic dust to heat.... here, there and yet nearly erased again. Against all reason. All this! Splattered, reach out Marc Chagall's wildwork... why so short to reach you? and can't. Why so long? Why so final? Why impermanence? Can truth exist apart from time? grab, joy, reach, totter, blackness dirt, brick, particles, cling, grave rock letters, lines, borders dimming... Gone. Reach out, yell, holler, plead. So much, And a hell of a lot more.

Submitted on 2006-08-20 03:33:45     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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