Over

All of it,  

sudden, gone

No Red Sea Horn of Africa

No castanets fandango or sitting beneath 

the Pisa shades of our white shelled Sycamore. 

It is over, all of us 

standing under the 

cherry sleeves of autumn, 

broken sullen industry...

a vertical, stone chiseled aftermath~

Reviews

[Gypsy Warrior Queen]

what ? sorry I'm growing avocados this year

[Perdition]

Definitely a mom...remember you must have a kitchen sink and toothpicks along with extra gum or else you're just growing a long stem in a styrofoam cup to give to your neighbors.

[Writergurl]

Oh the sweet humanity of this write! It's deep and thought provoking, how does one go on in this maddening world, this is a wonderful one to ponder on, kinda of insightful in a way as well, nicely done and thought out

[Perdition]

We wake up, pick up a hammer and begin with the first wall we choose..rinse and repeat.haha. As for us, well..we write, I think, try to feel what love and life we can for a single cloud or moment, and from there what fills the senses is our wonderment to endure. Thanks again!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

are we doing that? driving ourselves out of existence with industry...destroying nature who is one day going to fight back and eliminate us...
until that stone chiseled aftermath is simply a headstone showing the dates humanity lived on this earth.
j.

[Perdition]

Well, I think it goes a little deeper into the psyche than that as we are quite the new breed of entitlement and not celebrating diversity as much as perhaps before the ease of industry or new fear-based realities. All Starbucks and WalMarts no Ma and Pa with Alice diners serving the god awful coffee that was more chapel than shop and absolutely delicious..building walls and opening shortcuts where the ocean has asked us nicely to choose No. But yeah..a rough illusion and whatever we get...we deserve because it's what we accept that becomes of our world. Hey but seriously... Merry Christmas and Happy New Year Jay and thanks as always....hoping for a new shiny quill and a sweet-smelling box of old-style unbleached, waterwheel pulp under the tree for ya.