secretly, i write a lot of letters. whole addresses to people with no address. even with no replies, its still nice to think of them receiving the letters and possibly penning a return line of words. if i fold them into cranes, these unsent soliloquies, its sort of as though that was the intended idea in the first. it also gives speculation to a plethora of horrible metaphors about thoughts soaring, having my head in the clouds, and other such nonsense.
i'm a bit distracted.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
mob mentalities and superficialities
moving along to societies musicalities
main conductor, streamlined,
leads us with a certain kind of grandeur
like ants in a farm,
birds on a wire.
paper doll silhouettes
on ivory tusk dusk: daisy chain frames
pen inked blinks, weary
photograph shots: blirred
memory box, hostage thoughts.
oh look, a song.