I steal ideas.
Some photos and a poem and I'm signing off
again...will do a write up later this weekend on new developments...arts zine, musical
fun, connections with others...
HE arose, filthy, stinking
king of the dawn.
Still in yesterdays clothes
but breathing a new
type of fire.
His nostrils had grown.
The air moved quicker.
And everything else kept
He caught a bird in mid-flight.
He pointed out the smallest parts
Then the quiet became unbearable.
Of course, he took it.