The Trail is Circular, We’re Working for a Bigger Moment, But:

30 Sep

Thunder breaches the peace. Treason to the treaty between the see-saw offspring children of Wind –Gasp and Sigh– once gently tumbling, so playful and free and easily deceived.

It is seven o’clock. Sunset blushes the lush mountain side innocent pink, perhaps the hue of a piglet, perhaps the freshness of a June rosebud, perhaps the raw warm exposure of a bashful virgin.

Leaves litter the moist ground and their sweep is suspended in the storm, drops of rain like a robin’s eggs press their venious face into the soil unil the rich soil and vibrant green blend into one: the sea of earth.

Eager gusts of cloud’s breath whistle through bare boned branches, frail and frigid, shivering under coats of moss in the unexpected cold summer night.

Neon stars freckle a navy haze , so true to blue it strikes the eye as theatrical curtains closing upon day to change scenes -seamlessly- to a wondrous, omniscient nightfall.

And where am I.

Outer space procreating a world sedated so even a planet is lethargic in defiance of anti gravity and no it doesn’t make sense but fuck you, am i supposed to? hot like the handle of a door way in the way of a fire exit way out in the middle of no where and your hair burns down to the root room the tip where it touches the air borne danger of the dark and the ranger though called is a stranger and will not has not cannot make it because he’s raping a teenager behind the dumpster that his wife threw their recyclables in earlier that week.

Loopy as a nightmare.


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