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Impalement of a TelescopeImpalement of a Telescope by ~adalaine
We don't breathe anymore:
We lie in the sun for hours feeling light
yet forgetting what it's like
to feel warm.
She handed out the secrets on fingers stretched from her tongue, pressing keys and retching.
It was a white dwarf. And a paper cut is the shallowest scar that burns brightest.
When we see comets, we watch:
They bare our dreams on the backs of wishes,
for these are things they can't hope to hold
inside.
She may swallow her words if she can, but salvation never slides so easy as those who salivate.
It was a blank ocean. But simply lashing out at seasons will never b
EtheonoeEtheonoe by ~adalaine
My mother always spoke to me in circles,
an apparent malfunction in thoughtful mechanism that keeps running
cycles around my head.
She would always tell me
some myths point to cages so, while I see high bliss in (the) pit.
You are born with the eyes you receive.
She had a lack of conventional memory,
living each day brand-new with the constant that can only be found in philosophy.
The world perceived her perceptions impaired
but she knew the truth
to live in this (world) belies insanity, for even Cyb
Sta.sh
have a nice day/night
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Red Vines, what the hell can't they do?
Have a GREAT day-
All the best,
Dick Whyte
--
"We are intent on reducing art to its simplest expression, which is love." (Andre Breton)
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DAA Registered Visitor Badge # 251
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Todo lo que hacemos, en el arte o en la vida, es la copia imperfecta de lo que hemos pensado hacer.
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Todo lo que hacemos, en el arte o en la vida, es la copia imperfecta de lo que hemos pensado hacer.
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THE IRON-GIBBET
"And what is in a branch? There's a gibbet! That is why I call my forest the torture chamber!"