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The Glass Moteperpetuates lonesome in the sand, belonging to the shelves and miskept stacks of a bedroom. It is a cooled chaos, a verdant wolf eye bead in which we are by movement trappedThe Glass Mote
in lunacy! A mid-game molecular Jenga tower in which I play a part as you do, tenant to a tentative position
bearing the weight of every thing on the shoulders of
every one, captured frozen at the fall.
Wooden cheques suspended en masse descent, pieces fixed clacking against each other or finding themselves harsh against their neighbors' back - or lucky to touch vertically moment
by ~evad
criminy! 2deviantID
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: between calendar pages
- Favourite artist: brian froud
- Favourite game: crazy toes
- AIM: gravytopotatoes
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Love,
Mom
Love,
Deacon
--
I hate bugs.
--
they gave you life
and in return you gave them hell
as cold as ice
i hope we live to tell the tale
_
--
~Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black and the dark street winds and bends...
--
...all over me.
I like that your poems are here. It saves running all over creation trying to hunt the bastards down in forums.
Good, powerful days and nights to you, and may wisdom smack you on the cheek only hard enough to remind you to smile.
--
Before an important decision someone clutches your hand--a glimpse of gold in the iron-gray, the proof of all you have never dared to believe.
(Dag Hammarskjold)
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