Time marks the wall with scrawls down and across, hatching out a cross path of lines and voices into the ether, feeding back again into the brain. Once distraction on the same plane, it is enough to force a jump for the sweet sounds. Direction casts a stream looking forward to the whisper and the silence.
Burning the ear from the ends and watching the seat move about as others in related space attempt all manner of deafness, hoping to see nothing as they want to hear nothing from across the side and section. Inaudible is but a cause for filing away the air which makes waves of sounds.
Options exists and yet none are made as there is no escape for those within earshot. Cast and falling ever so as the light of the day creeps into night and a startling calculation numbers into the figures of just how far into the black is red going to mar.
On the outside, with the perch on view, stands are made as honours upheld to reaffirm the nature at peace and of respect.
Soon Van - Friday, 20 April 2007 - 19:51
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