I was into writing short short stories for several months. Waking up in a fog, I tapped out twelve words while lying on my back. The thread tying the words together was frequently tenuous. The stories/thoughts/ideas/notions/prayers usually made sense at the time.
Now, months later, I’ve got questions.
Two themes here are: dawn and metaphysics.
Creep your greyness. Frost the ceiling. Lighten my eyes. Lift my heart.
Light spill stabs my eyes. Lazy lump. Peach glow delicious. Rise rise.
Orange bright wraps my senses. Reflections of desires, hopeful beginnings. Another day.
Sky turned over, rolling from dark to grey to maybe to blue.
Crazy sun lags behind the edge. Waiting. Waiting. Testing balance before leaping.
Does It Stop
Wandering rock earth sun snow. Round and round she goes. Cosmos plays.
Squishy holes. Squeeze tight. Suck or spit, air or water. Your choice.
Nature of Matter
Artichoke dreams layered petal on petal. Fragments. Peeled away exposes tender heart.
Searching bright pinpricks high, connecting patterns, skimming the plunge of dark mysteries.
Stiff skin bounds custard filling clinging to seed center of the world.