Measuring

A beautiful explosion hits the air vigorously navigating the inner wound, uploading the actual plenty that surpasses only the wicked. May I be under the limit when my monkey unwinds. Fortunately all measures will be justified when in time mercy will lead me.

My little story bored queen plays under an up yanked umbrella. She had a time to ponder and wonder but now the wind has flushed even her unabridged reclusion nestled one mile down her beach estate. For her, these times linger longer when her up stretched arm holds the umbrella stick in place out of the wind. It’s an avoidable situation only a true free spirit can surpass and go yonder. Of course the sand-blown wind meddles with her kettles and ultimately with her willing mind and she, with both hands, grabs the inverted spokes and rises to confront the mighty wind head on. The waves, the wind and the dropped notes in her head mesh in tune to rattle the beats her body abides by and bye bye. She glides and twirls slowly, dips into small crouched positions and bounces along the side of the concave rock. She hums, pati ti pa pata ta .. You winds are old. And old stone-ry that my bliss yes blissful enchanted self ……. She cuts the wind with her once protection, now weapon, in hand and ooof, hall. Raindrops hop from heaven; the waves perk up excited and trash the beach end. The wind attacks back and picks up, in a twirl, a piece of paper. It lifts within and free falls gently back barely touching the sand and is aspirated high one last time meeting water droplets. The no longer bored queen of my creed is projecting hilarity as she uncontrollably spins. The sun carries her prolonged shadow far across the side of the beach. She now chants: I need to redeem myself, come to me wind and I will follow. The soaked paper flaps and clasps unto her upturned face and spinning body, broken umbrella in hand. "Oh my wind on your body flows, it meanders, touching when laughter finds and binds you." She peels off the sudden tapestry molding her face and stops; dropping the umbrella, paper in hand. Ultimately knowing within the desire of one’s self to surpass the navigating sensation that enables the willing into the consummate flush of the Divine unfledged. I am unsure of what enables me to trance vest the obvious and splurge unaware. The paper in my hands I holds still as I am. Up the hand my eyes match what beholds. Clean clear cluttered cleanse come to my cumbersome countenance to clout the clemencies of clandestine chums. 1-410-538-7200, 404 via santorio. Call for the unexpected, received. 410 dials into blazes of serene meager some surroundings. Entails the superfluous behavior of one’s unbending digital input? No, it’s the unsurpassed mediated, unwilling geomancy that without pertinent knowledge glimpses pieces of truth. My truth is filled with idiosyncrasies that pile high. You think it’s easy to manifest strife and love at the same time? I am unsure of the sweet sensation that when abided governs me to ruin. Ruin? Ok, look at the paper dummy lass incorporated.

Windy Ways

Strong shadows hazel to and fro as Jonah’s boat embarked the seas. Upon the starry canvas my gaze fathomed the mysteries of preconceived notions. Could variables destroy the spontaneity of affect? Why is knowledge less sweet when loosened by prerequisite experience? Cannot I also enter the tribunes or will I only be the lonely. However, Nothing surpasses the purpose that shines so intently when one knows. The salad is ready. I split the peas and crunched the olives! A voice, whose voice, oh his voice. I better go and sort him. Thanks for the joint and talk captain. Anytime, I often squander pieces of heaven. I turn around holding unto the side of boat, the water is choppy, and climb down the stairs to the deck below. Art is enslaving me again. I wonder what connections Jonah has with the marine establishment? A seaman he is, never does he ever set pleasures on firm ground. There is a tree above my head when I sleep. My bed corners it in. I respond strongly to my lavender sheets for they remind me of summer rain. Glad I fold and wake from slumber, for it is in a quiet place I retire to, when time comes. It does so in varied increments for I have initiated a radical schedule change. The long understated road pressed into service by routine, cemented within a desire to crumble. But held high an upright air to breeze the wondering heart and bruise the wandering get. It makes you wonder why if all who wander are not lost does anyone ever gate back from the track lost in wonderment wandered. Within routine lies the treasure of impulse. Pulse, pulse, death.

Pictures of Lilly

Idea:
All of a sudden when a dog shows up at her place, it dons on a women that she gave birth one week ago. No one near her is willing to help her uncover this mystery as intense emotions and visual flashes grip her memory back to a time when she after a rape detaches herself from those she knew and find in a dying man life, love and solace. They find peace in each other’s arms accompanied by his dog and face their respective demons as he willingly dies of aids and she gives birth to the child conceived out of the traumatic experience a sect inflicted upon her and who in time found the pair and retrieved her and the baby. Placed her with the man who raped her by brain washing her into believing this was her life. One husband, no dog and especially no child.

Lilly is a young girl on the brink of womanhood, raised in a tight nit community. She understands that her life is in the hands of the leaders. It has always been this way her mom tells her and it will always be this way she acquiesces bitting her tongue. It’s been normal around here ever since she can remember. No one finds hardship within his or her tedious tasks. All happily grind away every day singing joyfully in unison. Everyone knows it’s her turn next to uncover mercies. She saw her best friend Oraya become peculiar after the ceremony.

A snap shot:
Lilly leans over the balcony of their apartment in downtown Topeka. She just finished washing a load of whites and is appending upon the clothesline underwear. She is dutiful and smiling and does not notice that some are generously bigger then others as she clips each one and rolls down the line across the back yard. Birds fly up in between the sheets and into the sky as a dog appears around the side and barks for her attention. She pays it no mind but bends down to retrieve the empty clothes bin. A sharp pain grips her mid section. She doubles in pain, one hand on the doorknob the other on her belly. The dog is still barking.

The door opens and in appears her husband Ten who hands her pills and a glass of water. Come inside love and sit by the T.V. She obeys still listening to the sound of the dog’s bark. Something familiar and overt defies her to turn around and take a look at the animal. Her husband rectifies his position by grabbing unto her arm spinning her sideways she takes a hold of the railing and smiles back through her teeth. Let me see this poor little dog. She can feel the pain grow and the fog permeating her conscience disappears. The dog stops barking when he sees her. She stares at it, her husband with one hand on her shoulder whispers comes inside. You see the dog stopped barking. All is well. She follows him inside. Sits by the T.V and swallows her pills in one gulp. Both the pain and the memory are gone. Ten is on the phone.