The forest is silent with menace.
Trees cast shades of arms upon rotten grass,
licking their trunks with raspy tongues.
Here, fog makes a sound,
tiny infants crawl in the moss.
A moon stares down with its one panicked eye.
This is the place I will go,
if I do not believe it exists.
COMMENTS
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Joli
18:18 Mar 11 2009
I would trade my cornflakes for a morning bowl of you. Imagine the footprint of a day so fueled.
"Here, fog makes a sound...A moon stares down with its one panicked eye." mmmmm...delicious. And it stays crunchy in milk.
Joli
01:30 Oct 27 2024
I agree with my past self.