76

Right now. Night has lifted but the breath of dreams lingers. Weighted down by river’s gravity, snagged on low tree branches, waiting for the sun. The sky presses heavy on the morning crows and perpetual swifts as the breath flows toward an estuary of the exhaled, a delta that forms around the many types of sleep before finally running into the subconscious sea; no shallow shelves, all deep trenches.  There are monsters.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: