Friday, July 19, 2013
One Minute. Go!
Her hair was dark black. It smelled like some kind of fruit. One of the things I see at the supermarket and am too afraid to try. Too afraid to admit I don't know how it works. That's the thing, see. I don't understand how it works. Here you are, black hair and flower scent and I don't know what to do with you.
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Just over 1 minute:ReplyDelete
Just when you tell yourself you're wasting your time, time stops, as someone tells you in so many words, your efforts are not in vain.
The way time stops that way, every so often, its not of this world; you savor it. It's something to appreciate; it doesn't happen often, but when it does, you realize that sometimes you can't -- you simply can't -- listen to what you're telling yourself.
Very nice! Thanks for playing! Feel free to do as many as you like and spread the word. ;)Delete
Well, there wasn't much that could have been done about it. It was over so quickly. There was a strong smell of ... something. Loud bang. That's the last thing I remember. You ask me what my name is again, and I'm leaving. This isn't about me. It's about the way you sleep when you go home. I'll wager it ain't great.ReplyDelete
Something about the way she puts on her shoes irritates me, no end. She always sits on the floor, left leg crossed over the right with the toes of the right wiggling as if to a rhythm and then she slips on her left shoe. It always takes her a couple of minutes because she refuses to stretch out her leg or touch her feet with her finger tips.. The way she puts on her shoes really bothers me.ReplyDelete
Awesome. I love little quirks and details like this. :)Delete
Courtesy of: Timothy Paul ChoquetteReplyDelete
Yesterday was the day before, and tomorrow will be the after, right? So if this is true, meaning a ball that spins time is a spinster you might say. One that has no other mission than to roll the marble on the floor always seeking a level landing, a cats eye that glistens in the sun. So mistress of the wheel pedals her feet to the constant strum of the churning, weaving webs of simple twin. Her mission is divine~
Some awesome word play in here. This is a great piece, man.Delete
Only feel tired like this when I should be wide awake. And as soon as night falls, sleep is nowhere to be found. thoughts dragging me through tunnels, waterfalls, creeks, valleys, clouds ... unstoppable. Anyone will tell you; I love my sleep. But that feeling -- those rushing thoughts when the eyelids become heavy -- that's the space I love most.ReplyDelete
I'm not the only one! ;) Great piece.Delete
Laurie E. Boris:ReplyDelete
In one minute, my hands will burst, my tendons will fly apart and in this heat probably melt when I want to plunge them into ice water and my whole body, too. Tell me I can’t do that. Leave room in the freezer, I’m coming in, damn the popsicles, they’ve taken up enough of my time. Damn the old orange juice, fuzzy on the inside, damn the ice cubes, sitting-around useless lumps of water.
I swear I commented on this. Useless lumps of water. ;)Delete
The chick is so small and fragile. Underneath the nest of its chirping siblings. I try to shield it from her, but it only makes it more obvious. Why is the bird dead, Dadda? I try to explain. Nature can be cruel. It doesn't faze her. I still think about it, and it's been weeks.ReplyDelete
In the twilight she whispers where only the moon can hear, staring down momentarily where she dances in the stream that shimmers with a thousand stars. Her song unsung lies in her head, untouched. Where the water flows she bends to trail her fingers in the echo of the moon.ReplyDelete
Change is good they say. Then why am I lost and why is it that I only feel comfort lost inside myself, headphones on, music blaring.ReplyDelete
Gripping the rope with both hands he soars above the grass, cars, houses and soon the clouds, losing himself within the white wisps. Flying high above beating wings, the little red kite chases the breeze.ReplyDelete