Sunday, November 18, 2012

Through a skylight filter

I smell the sun on the edge of morning.
Lines, then arcs, then almost a circle.
Where does it begin, and when does it end?
Every day, another one, almost m’racle.

Horizon line, then an arc, a bright ball.
Edge is sharp, days are hard, nights are murder.
Debate with you, argue then, I’m right, you know?
Think I give a flock, I am no sheepherder.

Infinity sign, twisted loop, never ends.
Light and dark, shades of grey, pixal tight.
Focus sharp, dogs don’t bark, set the stop.
Roads are lines, house with arcs, in water angles right.

Fog and sun, steam and ice, greens gone brown.
A beaver here, raccoon there, buck, bull, doe, and angel.
Saw her there, in the mist, floating above the water.
Friend who left, tells me stuff, sky is full of danger.

Need some art, design the front, illustrate a story
Designer tones and picks, sometimes with different vision
Cops call in, fire breaks out, rush to file an image
Grip and grin, check pass, mug, shoot them without derision

Day moves on, through high sun, moves in arc
Noon to dusk, search for clouds, red in bounce
Where does it begin, and when does it end?
Afraid of the dark, if that kind of fear counts?

Every day, another one, string together, one by one
Move along, nothing to see here, give us some room
Smell the sun, edge of night, angel’s lens paints the ball.
Almost a circle, arcs then lines, crop tight, then zoom.

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