(<$BlogItemCommentCount$>) comments

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Blue cloud rivers and a tree on brown soil

The tree

is my feeling

Its bark is my skin

It stands unfettered

by my noisy rings

in my head

the voice

of the plant

dies

a screech

into the wind

Carries me

far from you

all of you

little blades

of grass under

the blue cloud

Rivers of atrophy

running through

my roots of silence

old silence

mad silence

I sleep

standing

My feet

underneath

wet, brown soil.

-russ- http://readruss.blogspot.com

Posted by inktrip at 5:47 PM