as soon as the sloshy pool is framed neat the bottom falls out its contents gush over the sentient terrain
scattered on the old river flakes of light flutter in the breeze like passing thoughts a seed finds purchase in such barren ground some crust as thin as an eggshell divides waters details flutter in the belly of the mind, why?
until the crooked hand rests reeling displaced movements spin the stone of silk into a fetal position old form full potential
careful she listens observes says a few words to gently pull off the costume she waits for others to take a turn for her awareness cradles all
hangs down its luminous thread from a ceiling too bright to see and shines along the teeth that cut it
hairs brush over the horizon the ring hovers at a calm distance until the terrain draws it closer the ring glows brighter and warmer hairs standing on end until the ring becomes
from no past
the blades are bent
let the grass
explain their position
a toy soldier
in the womb
Consciousness flows under the hard encrustations of experience. The crust sometimes breaks apart and what was thought to be deep is actually as thin as an eggshell.