kwburnette
furred hands below knees descend and find rocks in the ground and then become rocks themselves, lost to sedimentary ages as footsteps embedded in mud, forever the source of paper and ridicule from the future. What were these steps? where did they go? let me tell you, they were just going to take a crap.
Its funny that this was it. The final movement, because now All I can do is listen and know that everything is perfect. Whatever filter for cliche I have has escaped me this moment. So just listen, if you read this, listen to something and know that the world is more than enough.
millions of dark empty miles between everything, and us. We lie separated from the universe by the universe itself, a self defining, self correcting equation of solitude. But they call to us, don't they, the emptiness calls.
Lifeblood's trickle is moving down her back, small pools of muscle born and die, shift like continents. The world, she is, or mine, perhaps. We took a look and realized loving earth was more than apt
today. it was today.