her problem

no aplogies offered from days for silences which choke and strangle. words stuck in her throat, borne of pain, data, data, data...endless ticker. spaced out she watches the plots like far off constellations or are they crows and vultures circling above rotting carrion. waiting for time to pass. if she could study the root system, or the network of arteries and muscle; the mind needs the intricacy of words for the love of its sanity or perhaps intoxication is more suited for skimming the details of such times. as night turns over in sleep, it strains at the seams, the quiet ache, hurts of loneliness, a solitary pain which nobody understands or cares to.

when i nibbled at the sugar laced moon

so let's suppose the moon laid down last night on a bed of roses as the streetlamps chimed the hours, would the broken down words still matter? short sharp pricks of love, as shadows spread on worn down cobbles where tiny wild flowers fill up the spaces. the clouds set sail earlier in the day, white puffy clouds, tripping away and i wish i knew slang in flemish as i searched for vintage postcards, to say, "i am glad i was here today".

whispering moon

six degrees of seperation between you and me and yet the disconnect couldnt be deeper. love is a stranger who walked into town last night with not even the howling dogs to welcome him. a lonely moon sat huddled in a dark corner of the sky as icy winds whipped the clouds into a frozen souffle. tsk tsk tsk loneliness is a wintry moon adrift on a heartless chill.