Into free-fall, there's stymie and no rhythm
the grasshoppers fly around in circles, unaware,
the flow is as soak grass
burnt by the equivocal scorching sun,
wonder waits still for recognition
that will dissolve, unremembered
as soon as we get second wind
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
Into free-fall, there's stymie and no rhythm
the grasshoppers fly around in circles, unaware,
the flow is as soak grass
burnt by the equivocal scorching sun,
wonder waits still for recognition
that will dissolve, unremembered
as soon as we get second wind
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