|
The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Crisp Green, Leatherbound  Saltwater stasis of Arctic glacial ice, frozen and morose, lifts morning, pushing it to rejection, to get out of bed and it becomes the underside of ten workboots thumping away in a quarry, turning cliffs into granite chunks of kettle corn with the flip of a switch and the energy of an explosion. The whistler’s signal changes shifts and it’s now the dark space under a mansion’s kitchen sink where the dish soap has festered, crusted, lost its color – and more importantly - its scent of Paradise Gardens lost, too. Soon a child will accidentally ingest it because it doesn’t smell, taste, or act like soap. Before they pump her three-year-old stomach (for the first time but not the last) she will taste the funk of waking up after drinking far too much whiskey, feeling the weight of gravity will force her knees to give way and the whole thing starts over, fingernails following grooves on a golden record exploring the music of empty hurtling through space on the side of Voyager I. #Unreal #Poetry #Photography #Circular #Evolving #Life #Lessons #Habits #HumanCondition Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.
CommentsComments are closed.
|
