each thought seems a drop in the ocean
that distorts the truth of what/is, spins it
down the whirling abyss of what could be
mounts a parallel space within . . .
[my hand's] reach?
that distorts the truth of what/is, spins it
down the whirling abyss of what could be
mounts a parallel space within . . .
[my hand's] reach?
No comments:
Post a Comment