smell the moon, sun


Once the cake is baked, you can’t separate the spices from the egg, he thought, finally deciding to save his head from banging into the pigeons. Loneliness is the end product, always, and the sooner you get used to it, the less lonely you will feel with yourself. A snake hissed and a rat ran, but the cellar remained empty and dry, alone in its anxious song.

There are 4 comments in this article:

  1. 05/7/2008scot says:

    really liked the last sentence

  2. 05/7/2008PaulS says:

    yeah, that is great, bang, i really felt that palm of the hand to the forehead at the beginning and then the animals scattered, cool ideapoem image, really liked this one,

  3. 05/24/2008Jade says:

    breath-stealing sadness

  4. 08/25/2008Julie says:

    This is beautiful. I love your poetry. I’ve never been good at experimental pieces, so I’m impressed when someone does it well. And your artwork is also excellent. Beautiful site!

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