distance grows with
each passing second.
dry "umm... so"s talk like
the hum of escaping air.
moments barren of
creativity. to mount
and impregnate it
with memories
would be intimate
with sand.
nothing can grow here;
for the nomad
doesn't spend hours trying
to plant just a flag.
beg and dance
for a false goddess.
he moves toward fertile land.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
distance grows with
each passing second.
dry "umm... so"s talk like
the hum of escaping air.
moments barren of
creativity. to mount
and impregnate it
with memories
would be intimate
with sand.
nothing can grow here;
for the nomad
doesn't spend hours trying
to plant just a flag.
beg and dance
for a false goddess.
he moves toward fertile land.