The true thoughts which reside in my head
have glued naught twitches hiding in the dead.
Words strumming and futures buzzing.
The flies do everything but cloak my vision.
A sagging place which was once a tree, a house,
a grave, and somewhere holy salvation is held.
The tree was felled and crafted into a simple dwelling;
the residents could not shell a shilling.
Then,
more bodies in the holes that are filling.
-=-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The art, the craft-all which is placed in happenstance-is best performed in a zen meditative trance.
The flow (as you know) it grows and swells into loving stories for all to tell.
^v^
The cascades of colliding writings winged itself about the room as she opened the window.
Kneeling down to salvage the scattered remains of transcribed brains Ella beckoned for better luck-mostly utterances to her self.
A deadline is to be met,
papers to be drawn...
...plans to be made
and decisions to regret.
Ella placed a weighty book upon the stack of papers that had nearly taken over the hardwood floors of the one-roomed apartment. Looking, gazing into the people-laden square she had many thoughts.
Ah, now Ella is blowing off work like the wind blew her writings off the desk.
_=-+-=__=-+-=__=-+-=__=-+-=__=-+-=__=-+-=__=-+-=__=-+-=__=-+-=__=-+-=_
Discontented hearts tear the loves apart before the cemented bonds begin to start.
Like air to the fires or dancers to the musicians inspiring the fair passions of dire resistance.
The tides turn-respondent to the ripping claws and snapping jaws.
Monstrous, yes.
Humanity is.
o_O
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