Each stone
slid across the
restful lake's
surface
like a dancer's grapevine
sending ring after ring
rolling along
simulating
reality's many realms
just like sound
However
The fish don't mind.
They continued
their
dawdling meditation
opening mind's eye
to view
abstract pieces
oil painting and sculpture
of worm and fly.
Another stone
skates the surface.
The sub aqueous sonance
is that
of a million
microscopic universal
implosions.
This is terrifying
for paramecium,
but the fish
don't mind,
the stones don't mind,
the lake don't mind.
All is well
the moon is high.
When the stones fly
you can almost
hear their
gleeful resonance...
"Weeeeee!"
-BH
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
The Stones.
Posted by Unknown at 6:24 PM 2 comments
Labels: lake, moon. night. Ben HOlbrook, moonshine, Poetry, rocks, skipping, stones
Monday, November 16, 2009
Absent Friends
I'M SORRY!! I'll get back to work.
But when you think about it
you're just as guilty as I am.
We both completely deserted this blog
it was alone in the world
existing only
with in ones
and zeros.
And when you think about it
being between one,
which is the loneliest number
and zero
which is nothing
is
a terrible place
to be.
Posted by Unknown at 12:28 PM 0 comments
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