pretty much the same -------------------------------------------
even comes on odd days. bends around curves and can hold
a tune. it hugs a road. becomes mist. hangs in the smoke of God
and on drooping leaves the color of pumpkins. my world goes green. brown. orange. then lays ontop of a mantis, who prays
in afternoon sun.
a bleakness rectifying itself? I imagine this mood drifting drown and down, and then something, this 'even' sitting on the end of of it like a seesaw and pulling it slowly back up to 'just about ok'. I imagine lots of things.
even bending, becoming mists, mists hugging roads.
mists hugging roads (beautiful, by the way, and so eloquently put).
the world righting itself.
the seasons moving on (we ought to follow them out of our ruts).
this vapourous, firm, soothing solidity, gentle solidity of our mind-worlds.
these worlds balancing on insects (I love insects), a prayer of sorts.
Submission Name: pretty much the same
