Mar 2018
They’re jumbling
And tumbling.
Tripping over themselves to get out
As soon as that clock hits 3 am.
If they don’t they paint vivid mindscapes
That vanish with the sun.
If they make it,
Well they can assault the senses of those,
Now too few, that read.
And tumbling.
Tripping over themselves to get out
As soon as that clock hits 3 am.
If they don’t they paint vivid mindscapes
That vanish with the sun.
If they make it,
Well they can assault the senses of those,
Now too few, that read.
I have a love hate relationship with time and thought about a small series relating to how each hour of the night makes me feel.
