Do you ever count days, minutes,
seconds as if you're skipping rope and never
want to stop? Counting forevers?
The clock hands stop for a nano second,
but it's all imagination.
I'm skipping rope in between all things--
old and new days, words, ink spots,
stairs, holding my breath,
I am a new woman,
in an hour it's a new day.
Nothing poetic about life, at times,
I want to colour the contours,
empty myself of suns and moons.
What good is it to invent
still another window where light
comes in and is reflected back into the sky,
right there, one particular patch of it,
let me be a part of the same window as always.
In Iran they're fighting in the streets.
I am skipping rope, my feet
touch the nano seconds
I was thinking about.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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You show an awesome design fetish in this architecture. Ducati should envy you.
Very pretty and so 70's popular science subdued...
Sorry...I liked this Maria. -
i was watching flashes running horizontal
all over a violet sky-field
and they crossed my mind:
clock hands stokes are imagination
and so is their dynamic
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