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1 entry this month
 

Confined by a paradox

14:05 Mar 11 2009
Times Read: 811


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
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
Joli
01:30 Oct 27 2024

I agree with my past self.








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