Saturday, November 2, 2013

let(ting) go of

Open(ing) the windows once again; it's cold outside, strange...foreign winds; the streets smell unfamiliar, and even the chill appears to be appalling, (over)(be)numb(ed). But that's life after all—in all its pain, grey asphalts, slaver(ies), beaut(ies), unrealit(ies), torrid teeth and lips and routes, misanthrope cars, nausea-possibilities to dwell in or execrate, or even our own splendorous-decayed upon another, with their layers and morningsso ours, humans'to be (inter)woven...acrimony, machine-hands, sordid clouds, and wor(l)ds hooked on moonstruck delusions, planted-here, designed-there to...hurt; yes, unfortunately, (t)here remains much rue, rue, rue...torn-down us—yet all of be cooked...away...far, far away. Reasonable? possible? (since) when? well-who...will come over Wondering, swirls, reveries...plans, hopes. To hope, hope, desperately-even hope. A mere stream? Still a one. Open(ing) the windows once again and get(ting) a life...

("Sunflower"  |  photo by Arslan Ahmedov  |