the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

LI/U Frequencies

The name is but a perceived notion of suspicion.
It becomes a prediction in the brain's matters,
Never to know what happens when the dialogue turns gray.
When past and present turns to shadows and light,
We jest at the truth to get past all the lies,
Rest after the work from the hands of a blind man.
Wine spilled into the sink after staining the wood,
Slipped into the grain of things we wish we understood.

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