Leaving
Day 5,971, 13:39
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Published in USA 
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by
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by Pfenix Quinn
The Parish Review
Continuing in this vein... Enjoy!
xoxoxox, PQ
Fog touches skin and gets inside. Dog cuddles closer to shed its wet pride. Smelly.
No smog here on the clean island, just empty nip bottles dropped aside -- carapaces shed from a passing misery. Cars raise their waves of tiresome tire noise-splash on the soaked road. A bog-tide of rush pushes on, the drivers missing the steady gaze from the roadside of ancestors walking this path, walking this path to the old Dutch market, just around the bend.
Bone-gray trees, limbs still limned with late winter arbor-oratory, laugh cruelly at the drivers-by.
Pale green next-to-gray moss hangs their somnolence from beyond the Gate into an earth-bound traveller's face. No words needed when you're a tree. In two weeks time it'll be a colossus of green bay freshness, a kelly green, velveteen green, and quiet sparks of phospor verdance. And the trees will laugh again, in a baffled silence of leaving.
Vol.1, No.2, Day 5972
"Exploring Worlds Within Worlds: Where Words Dance and Ideas Play"
Continuing in this vein... Enjoy!
xoxoxox, PQ
Fog touches skin and gets inside. Dog cuddles closer to shed its wet pride. Smelly.
No smog here on the clean island, just empty nip bottles dropped aside -- carapaces shed from a passing misery. Cars raise their waves of tiresome tire noise-splash on the soaked road. A bog-tide of rush pushes on, the drivers missing the steady gaze from the roadside of ancestors walking this path, walking this path to the old Dutch market, just around the bend.
Bone-gray trees, limbs still limned with late winter arbor-oratory, laugh cruelly at the drivers-by.
Pale green next-to-gray moss hangs their somnolence from beyond the Gate into an earth-bound traveller's face. No words needed when you're a tree. In two weeks time it'll be a colossus of green bay freshness, a kelly green, velveteen green, and quiet sparks of phospor verdance. And the trees will laugh again, in a baffled silence of leaving.
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"I watch the ripples change their size
But never leave the stream of warm impermanence and
So the days float through my eyes
But still the days seem the same"
-- Bowie
https://youtu.be/BPPSu0vaNWA
I truly feel sad for people who don't know the music of Bowie.
VOTE 🙂
Excellent work...love it...two thumbs up...
o7
And these children that you spit on,
As they try to change their worlds,
Are immune to your consultations,
They're quite aware of what they're going through
Such a good song.
Generational artist.
Excellent piece of art. Really enjoying your articles for almost a decade probably. Even if I have to google every second word.
Thanks!