That with skies and puddles, red earth, crumpled napkins, careless hellos, unfinished breakfasts, there isn't too much to a day other than a giant, phantasmagorical Rorscharch test. The late nights is when I'm staring hard at the smudge that the day arranged for me. I assign a meaning and then I sleep. To do the very same thing the next day. Maybe, in summation, at the end of my life, I will see those hard thought meanings speckle the expanse of the wings of the Rorscharch butterfly that will fly away.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
447 of 534
( Photo by Craig Gary from Pexels: https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-falling-woman-wearing-a-sheer-dress-5655150/) Today was a strange sort o...

-
This isn't exactly a feminist tirade, but this is written by a woman, and it is written in annoyance. You raise your girls to be sweet...
-
I visited the Crossword at Mulund. It is big, bright, noisy, and has a really chic café. There are books too. The reason I was there was to ...
1 comment:
When you publish your book of thoughts and poems - I will be first in line.
Post a Comment