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Aug. 2, 2007 Bottles of Sand  Silver cotton oranges and snakes that make it across pathways where the sun rains purple where prayers go up and up to heavens. Florescent waves of lakes while the world spins cul-de-sac places where phantoms go where Jesus visits even and especially as the clouds turn sour and the sky broods. Salt there in the earth, and somewhere the clock spins in a dream, spins in a dream, spins in a dream. Bottles of sand, and the waterfalls try so very bravely to heal, to heal, to heal. Running water. Running minds. Fluttering hearts. Fluttering birds. Spacious holy night breeze moon. Scotch Tape  The artist woman with the yellow bandana in her hair paused and said, “ I remembered something. When I was a kid, and I daydreamed, I had a strange one once. I thought of what it would be like if I magically, in a moment, could make everything in the world that was held up by Scotch Tape fall down.” “ That’s a neat one,” said the man, “ and I’d bet it'd be quite something, that there is a whole bunch of things in the world being held up by Scotch Tape.” Outside trucks rolled past, and the humid day continued. The man tried to recall a dream he had had the night before, but he couldn’t access it. The woman opened a package of cookies, and for a moment the rolling trucks ceased. ------------ Email: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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