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Showing posts from July, 2012

Two toads up to trouble.

My clock is always wound, no time to let the seconds tick away.
I grew used to letting the moss gather. a fern bending to the touch of the unfamiliar.
I long to be sought through the spyglass of the one I love.
To be habitually loved is not enough. To habitually love another is not good enough either.
The spirit of the pigment I have accepted as my own, embraced abroad, swirls in a rainstorm down the sewer systems of a town I wish to walk in at night time.