new
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An oddly mild month January has been, warm like the head of a newborn child,the days brim with potential,flowing, yet tensile. If one was so inclined to break the laminar flow,to seep into the brine,the salty noveltyof new days and due dates and a fresh gaze,they may find it to overflow. Potential calcifies when its spilled. Collecting over…
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The eyes you have,when you experience change,wet like a newborn animal,darting and buzzing as they move through the nameless, versus the eyes you have looking at familiarity, glossing over similarity,running the same current over and over,until there are no more sparks. What happens between those sets of eyes?When does it die, the wonderment?
Lashanda Forsberg 