A wheel spins by - jump on.
Jump on! The click of the clock
gears itself around the wheel
and the world. Little scraps of paper,
apples, tiny stripes and shiny circles
tumble past. Chase them down
the street, to the far end of the road,
to the frayed edge of the world.
Trip right off the limits of land
into liquid violins, into empty sky.
Fall, fall into the parting ocean.
Breathe, breathe the bright water.
Crash, crash into the biting rocks -
rocks made from foam and paint
and nothing sharp at all.
| The urgency to rotate is reciprocated by the divine intention that we'll all eventually fall softly into a gravely risen state.||| Posted on 2012-11-25 00:00:00 | by Dolor | [ Reply to This ] || I like the little bit of craziness here, the twist and unexpected, particularly with the "breathe the bright water". Kind of trippy but I've had that feeling of being carried along beyond any control of my own, like a watcher rather than an object of any note. The end tells of a stage setting as opposed to what might be real, which might well be nothing at all. |
I really have nothing to contribute or suggest, form wise. This rolls perfectly. Nice read with a good cup of coffee.
|| Posted on 2012-11-24 00:00:00 | by Blue Monk | [ Reply to This ] |