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Monday, February 05, 2007
Idea!The orange street light is blistering in my eye,
shining as a broken sun through the purple grass
everything's brown, dark, seemingly still,
as if the hand of Death is upon my head,
while I sit back and relax
letting my mind flow,
as a river full of little shiny fishes
flows underneath the bridge of life.
They're such a multitude,
electric thunders in the black water,
such white and blinking vibrations,
perceptions of my neutrons.
Hard to distinguish,
as hard it is to separate a child from his or her mother.
But I made it,
and came out of the dark tunnell,
out of that bed made of muddy dirt of my conscience,
that I caught one of those fishes,
that I separed the proton from its natural atom,
and it weighs about a ton:
an idea, that is!
"that bed made of muddy dirt of my conscience... " that is the line that really did it for me, for some strangge reason. lovely poem.Post a Comment