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Sunday Muse #192

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  Following inescapable uncertainty Earth once flat moving round like sunshine candy dripping with excitement on asphalt upon which left behind hopes once traveled Gazing into the white horizon blinded  by possibilities Unsure of the route Uncanny wagon wheels rolling Over and over and over and over and over and over Breathing future dust composed of ghosts that yearned for visions hungry souls devour ravenous for escape
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Mag 27: The Wails of a Rusty Pipe

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Time passes, Iron decays, My purpose is fading, my structure eaten away. See the way I cry when I'm put to work? It only eats at me more, It only hurts. Everyday I wait for the moment, when they will take me off this wall and I cease to ferment. The fires of hell I hear men speak, sound wonderful and pleasant, Oh what a treat! To be rid of this rust, This dust and blue, To be awakened and reborn, To be once again anew. What could be worse than flame? For so many seem afraid. To remain stagnant, To always be the same.
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MAG 295

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Nibbling. Their absence is strange. A familiar lobster scent reminded me once of travels from last fall. The salted breeze warmed me then, but that was not what drew me in through the window. It was the smell of lobster that reminded me of the fisherman's calloused hands, and the wind set in a sail destined for heaven. Had she been here, I would have never dared to venture in. I eat to my heart's content. Then fly. In the distance, I notice the bell tolling in the sunset. And the rush of people moving through the narrow streets like the lifeblood running through veins.
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