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.

it simply rolls off your tongue.

thanks.

--
the trajectory hums.

"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."

--
Don't listen to me.

thanks.

contacts could make your eye balls explode.

--
the trajectory hums.

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.

--
deviant art will ban you for being mean.

thanks love.

--
the trajectory hums.

now that i have spent many days thinking it over, i am debating the concept. wounded does have its appeals.

or perhaps whir wounded in rain

i have much to think about. thanks bunches again.

--
the trajectory hums.

Whir wounded, I think, sounds better. The rhythm is too sweet to pass up.

--
Don't listen to me.

love for the suggestion.

--
the trajectory hums.