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it is the morning and i am lost to the wind! morning = bombarded with secrets the warm earth wants to buzz before your eyelids are gone and the fallacy of reality is wrung from its rag into your woody head once more. green fairytales leave my brains and my fingers leave circular fields of fog on my juice glass and then it is okay. i evaporate with the steam pouring off the ice into the air. there was an old woman colored in dim blue 1960's garb all abandoned in the street then. she wore a plastic shawl around her head to keep her brain from breathing and impose RIGID DISCIPLINE upon her whale colored funmoppet hair. this woman had her neck bent backwards to expose her face to the clear that buzzards move in morbid fluid circles amidst; mouth agape for the elements of youth the elderly forsake by imprisonment to escape through. a small folding telescope was pressed to her eye in a way that did not suggest the usual wish to abridge the world with enlarged, flattened shapes. AND THERE SHE STOOD! all wrinkling and either shrinking or condensing, i cant remember which, as if through a telescope lens herself, froze in a kind of awe or sorrow or something beyond human invention floating with the buzzards in the air and the dewy wind blowing from the morning in scotland blew her head garment off skittering down the green suburban lawns. she didn't chase after it. and those buzzards kept circling above her while she watched them in the mini-telescope window. i think i don't ever want to witness such prospective tomorrow-days ever again. END
by The JavaScript Source
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