the satellite year
they lost
I didn’t really care. Slow nights make for parades of gossip and quick glances.
Is he? Is She? Are we? Did you see?
The game a catalyst to avoid that conversation and delve into the deeper, the meta.
and the Alpha Omega Beginning End tongue lashing never ceases but leaves me somewhere in between.
middle ground.
We speak of the past years days as if they were eons ago (they sometimes feel so)
It was rotational, words rotational and redundant.
I find myself repeating ; can I stop repeating?
this satellite year.
robertmentzer said:
This is kind of a nice poem.
The dog’s frozen snot, below, is a pretty striking image, too.
January 21st, 2008 at 8:45 am #