The Flying Ship

The Flying Ship

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Grumble.

Perish tiny mortals in the withering wind
All my thoughts like butterflies pinned
distant sounds and cries of pain
Summer sun and winter rain

Delicate betrayals of elegant cruelty
Willful uniqueness and subtle beauty
Loud laughter fills and covers shame
And reasons to forget a name

Long lasting memories of very brief times,
brown paper packing with tripple twist twine.
tall people holding tawny metal saws
and little tiny people pulling rickshaws.



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