Whiddle

Over the roll of the curtain, there’s more bend in the shade. A rupture under the towel, that’s covering the lunatic.

Round the open, the energy soars to the particles, steam steaming down underneath the cupboards.

Crumbs of dust waiting for whiskers of approval, the account of the sun, bopping rays to all the countries. Powerful, but not powerful enough to shine on them all at once.

Or is that earth and it’s turn.

Your turn to figure it.

 

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This entry was posted in Journal.