Experimental, impressionistic sub-paragraph tumblin' (think obstsalat)



Freefall on a windy morning shore,
Nothing but a fading track of footsteps,
Could prove that you’d ever been there.
Spoken on a cotton cloud like the sound of gunshot –
Taken by the wind, and lost in distant thunder.
— Duran Duran, Secret Oktober

15:28 <manveru> chris2: mongrel laueft auf rubinius

In your black eyes
I hoped that I would find
that you were hiding
hiding something
but in your black eyes
lit by the glow of a streetlight
you were hiding
you were hiding something
— Snowden, Black Eyes

Red berries