this contains such lovely detail for something so short and is chock-full of possibility. this could be anything. I love the word obsidian. It is a word fit to capture the magnificent imagery of this piece with it's rustic yet smooth nobility.
"where trees grew men
obsidian tissues
disarmed their screams
and dead sneezes
whir in winded rain."
^ Winded rain didn't cross over very smoothly for me in that I kept reading wounded rain. i need the lenses.
In short, I took this as almost an homage for that which is long gone and never to return; the dead, in fact, don't speak, or what have you. Choose the cliché.
I cherish "and dead sneezes."
very nice. i am particularly fond of the first line, it sets a minimal yet sucking ambient right off, and at the same time evokes something "other than". good stuff.
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Devious Comments
thanks.
--
the trajectory hums.
obsidian tissues
disarmed their screams
and dead sneezes
whir in winded rain."
^ Winded rain didn't cross over very smoothly for me in that I kept reading wounded rain. i need the lenses.
In short, I took this as almost an homage for that which is long gone and never to return; the dead, in fact, don't speak, or what have you. Choose the cliché.
I cherish "and dead sneezes."
--
Don't listen to me.
contacts could make your eye balls explode.
--
the trajectory hums.
--
--
the trajectory hums.
or perhaps whir wounded in rain
i have much to think about. thanks bunches again.
--
the trajectory hums.
--
Don't listen to me.
--
the trajectory hums.
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