breanne-johnsonWhisper

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the dancersthe ground, it trembles. / as if thousands of little feet trample its surface, / rhythmically packing the hard earth.

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naked feet do wanderYour feet are nude, / They'd say. 'Tis so. / And time is of the essence, quick.

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in-between hoursTwice she came and twice she went, / Each time with less a grasp of reality. / Arms spread wide,

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untitled.I didn't know what it meant / But i liked it. / In all its ever-present, phantasmagoric, sundry forms.

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soft, silentA sleepy-eyed, soft cornered state of consciousness exists / before my brain synchronizes with my body’s motor functions, / before my eyes lose the filmy residual images of the distant places inside my head.

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