Thursday, October 1, 2009

lib erty gard ens th rough th e han ds of jon nel son

embarking on a surface without comprehension

the remnants of what lay behind

as plants spoke from their rooted elevation

telling us to gaze beyond what at first the eye perceives

into a distant recognition

that vanishes in the depths

of our playing field

and at once the mind may fixate on something it forgets to see

"hold on guys; i need to stay here; i need to be here for a while"

but in passing it is what was long ago a current current

of abandoned actions congealed

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