Time, is a fine rhyme
With it’s linear delineations.
Predicate and procreate,
predictions and ruminations.
Rue and leave,
a clockwerk heart on your sleeve;
The copper rod is dowsing.
76 years of seconds ticked by,
Samuel Clemens winked to Halley in the sky…and said:
“16 day’s and counting”.
#3ndtr@n$
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Now swallow these capsules…to regain my grip.
I’ve swallowed myself sick.
Here is your wake and smile, that you seem to need.
The safe and the touch, and the un-weave.
#3ndtr@n$
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These early mornings with the windows opened up; I love the breeze that seems constant through the whole house. Sip some hot joe, and down a bowl of steel-cut oats. Check some emails, browse some headlines.
No rush, no need to.
My kitchen faces the east, so the first rays filter through my sun catchers casting celtic knot shadows over the table.
Plenty to do, so I shouldn’t dally too long.
#3ndtr@n$
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Wood commands a type of respect. Different that water, air, or earth.
Some bends, like a reed in the wind.
Others, hard as stone.
All, however, give up life to provide.
This day, you will aid me in teaching: To make traps, bows, spears, and shelter.
In return, I will teach younglings to respect your nature.
#3ndtrans
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I feel too tired to write anything witty, play anything new, or even think too much. Almost too damn tired to even go to sleep. Like an obstinate child who refuses to go to bed.
A shower did not help.
Whiskey seems the cowards way out.
Sing me to sleep, so I can rest.
#3ndtrans
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