Black, it must be, but the outside is somewhere else, a voice said, and what
is whispering surely it is called time, that falling, and beyond anything
else the next word lies open. Hey? do you need glasses? Pardon my friend,
that is you I am talking to, and yet again something happens, it might be
conscious, and the spectrum is waiting there, hiding iin its palette, bet it
must be a something, give it a description, sweat, lights, a glare of not
there, world.
Dave
|