the soul of the moment, buried ‘neath the rust of moments that passed like smoke, wistfully waning. cast to grey tides, swallowed ‘neath, carried listlessly out to oceans vast.
this conversation warrants libation. you see, your consternation is indication frailty guides your mentation. such trepidation, dear me.
one can never be too sure of these things, meaning matters of men and their secrets. who knows what dread a friendly word may bring? the snare is in plain view, though few seek it. sleeping dogs may lie, but a man, he sits, waiting to descend when your back is turned, and test if…
extinguishing with the slow-rising sun: one by one, street lamps fading, turning cold. snow, great hoary spirals, swept cross tattered roofs. frozen folds layering the lofty, languid treeline: rows of imposing black oak and red pine. crueler than can be told. pastry landscape, a powder sugar dusted bun.
what thoughts cross her mind in her copper flat? staring out a second-story window: barren fields, lonely roads, a river’s flow. baring a patina, a well-worn hat: intent to not allow her sheen to show what thoughts cross her mind in her copper flat, staring out a second-story window. ever-evasive, an elusive cat, and all…
i often picture myself, alone in a field swaying in the wind.
i watched the birds dance among the heather, hopping and chirping in the breath of spring. no thoughts had they just then as to whether the frost, nor the chill that winter would bring. no future pain: neither now, or ever, might hope to still the songs that they might sing. their voices: full, warm…
we roamed aside the tow’ring hill nearby a lake, whereby we’d fill our canteens up and to their fill. drink in the chill; drink in the chill. we’d sit along the riverside and watch the water striders glide, entranced, intrigued and mystified. minds wand’ring wide; minds wand’ring wide.
just me, myself and i alone, nose to the stone til nothing’s left. i have my health, this orange cream scone, these aging bones, yet still bereft.
we can sit here together all night, until the first rays of morning light. staring up at stars and satellites, we imagine strange celestial sights: alien, vast, overwhelming and eldritch. understand, they’re staring back in spite.