Get that moon off of my face. Written yesterday, on a day when How do you do? is the wrong question.
on the full moon.
War inside my body,
Rorschach test in my pants.
Man is fearful for a reason.
If this were blood
he’d be dead by now.
Instead, what do I see
leaving my body?
A red fridge.
of a never-born.
For the photo part of the post, no fear, no moon and no tests. Just knives.
These are from the last bunch of photos I took, upon returning from Slovenia three days ago. This was the sunrise (At 8.30? Hm.. nope, it was 7.30, forgot to move the camera clock again), and the knives knew they would come handy.
Today I feel better already. And now it’s only going to get brighter, right?
I really need to add this topical song: “You can’t help my life / But you can hide… the knives.” 😀
In response to Patrick Jennings’ Pic and a Word Challenge #166: Texture