 Detail lost in the expance of my mind.
Only a sketciness of witeness that has blead out. The who, where, and the why are missing. White space on a page is silent. It gives up nothing, A puca perhaps? A shapeshifter. A pare of them. Hanging around mischeviously. Friendly fun? Maybe a sinnester less benevelant being. Maybe nothing at all-- but imagination. Sometimes it seems reality is seriously overrated. Michael Allyn Wells © 2025
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 Relaxing in the garden loch.
Landlocked between the porcelain. I sing the songs I know so well. I rip and discard the sheet music and splash and stretch my calves, their contour pleases me so. and it is me who matters most. You may look at the symmetry, the sensuality, may even enjoy the view. Just remember Sylvia Plath once said, "Opinions are like orgasms, everybody has them, mine matters most, and I don't really care if you have one." Michael Allyn Wells © 2025 |
AuthorMichael Allyn Wells - notes & musings |
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(c) Michael Allyn Wells - 2017