There was a crack. A sharp cut split the frozen ground. Its echo jettisoned itself from the source in an attempt to find something to reverb against. But there was nothing. And just as a pebble is plunged into a pool the waves would go on; perhaps they could carry themselves forever like the neverContinue reading “Siberian Solitude”
Tag Archives: prose
Down At The Harbour
Away from imbroglios and brouhahas, travelling down to the almost torpid shorelines where oleaginous waves rhythmically brush away all dread and doubt – it is here that pulsing sorrow wells up in the more maudlin side of my composure as I find my senses overwhelmed by the deep and drowning blues of sky and sea.Continue reading “Down At The Harbour”
Were I To Be A Tree
Were I to be a tree, only but a few pressing concerns would plague my petiolar mind. Foremost being the present equilibrium (or lack thereof) between rain and sunshine at any given moment. Short of the random yet necessary question of how cold one’s branches would feel in the wintertime with no appropriate coverage ofContinue reading “Were I To Be A Tree”
P.S.Clinen 