"There's not much doubt in any of our minds that no complete idea springs fully formed from our brow,
needing only a handshake and a signature on the contract to send it off into the world to make twenty-five billion dollars.
The germ of the idea grows slowly..." - Walt Kelly

Thursday, April 11, 2013

A brief interlude

Day Eleven: Write a tanka, or a series of them.

The beasts are blissful,
neck-deep in the sweet morsels
of the new morning.
The road to the edge of the
world is very long, indeed.

Their long necks slope up
to reach something beautiful,
put themselves at risk.
The jingle of pocket change
brings unwanted visitors.

A slow revival
prolongs the pain - brass droppings
fail to drown the screams.
Heaven is a grand ideal
and an even better con.

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
The Dodos, Sleep

No comments:

Post a Comment