stream, run dry.
shifting sand dunes.
nest, lost and found,
bird, not yet home.
closet, cleaned.
voided, needs moth balls.
chronicling a traveler,
compounded routines off an ancient tongue,
palatable dexterity.
spell checked wizard's clock,
replaced words and appended hours.
inspiration has run dry,
lost, but not hopelessly...
infrasonic
A rush to escape through the break in the rain, an over estimated transit, an early arrival and a sight that should not have made too much impact otherwise...
A blackout.
A signpost.
A little too much time to kill. Can't help taking a walk. Can't help fishing in this nothingness, Can't help hoping to see something here, miles from the epicenter.
The sound and smell of the flow warn just in time. The open veins of a city is not where one ought to end up. Cross eyed and confused with insomnia in the dark, a new sensation of revived and mutated home sickness has to be tackled. Bouncing off the base has sent me up a happy high. At this reversal, a buried emotion shoots up and I can't help reaching out in the air, knowing I am closer to the place that I will never know or reach, knowing only the direction and not the destination, shunned, I will be blind, even if the lights come back on...
No more time. I can't go further.
Good bye again, as the wind rushes in through the window, the helpless roads wind back once more to the signpost and back into the rain, before heading farther away...
There will be more of these trysts that can't be lived with and can't be lived without.
Strange is a war with no hate and enemy. It is cancerous.
I won't hype it. I won't yield.
A blackout.
A signpost.
A little too much time to kill. Can't help taking a walk. Can't help fishing in this nothingness, Can't help hoping to see something here, miles from the epicenter.
The sound and smell of the flow warn just in time. The open veins of a city is not where one ought to end up. Cross eyed and confused with insomnia in the dark, a new sensation of revived and mutated home sickness has to be tackled. Bouncing off the base has sent me up a happy high. At this reversal, a buried emotion shoots up and I can't help reaching out in the air, knowing I am closer to the place that I will never know or reach, knowing only the direction and not the destination, shunned, I will be blind, even if the lights come back on...
No more time. I can't go further.
Good bye again, as the wind rushes in through the window, the helpless roads wind back once more to the signpost and back into the rain, before heading farther away...
There will be more of these trysts that can't be lived with and can't be lived without.
Strange is a war with no hate and enemy. It is cancerous.
I won't hype it. I won't yield.
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