Saturday, October 23, 2010

Ten stories

I

The world outside is germinating into new strands of hair

I grope, grasp and grapple; water is no receding


I was eaten by a grasshopper when the sun dipped its last ounce in the sea.


breathe, breathe, breathe!

the eyes, letters, touches..stop..stop..stop....


The poor tree sucked the milk from my breasts.