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Monday, February 05, 2007



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,
and realized
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.
"electric thunders in the black water..." great images and concept. this was fun to read.
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