INKBLOT
The sun's
projective, an inkblot scaling mountains as a fleeting Rorschach
Crawling across the
desert scenery with a pale blue background
The grains of sand
as bountiful as stars hugging the ground hissing in the wind
tan world stretching
to touch the water coloured world
Floating inkblots
crawl forming massive 3d like sculptures on far ranges,
Across a desert
upward to an eternity kissing blackened wind and water is light of
day
The touching unseen,
caressing nature unfelt, filling with a material magic until the cup
over flows
A river bank
streaming outward to a purpose vaguely guessed at
There is no
deliberate wind with a purpose, only it's own existence, wind needs
no purpose
The thing is itself
alone in a freedom as purposeless in existence.
The hissing sand
echoing the whispering wind
And pressed flat the
clouds foam upward
Against the glass
ceiling the roof of air sails
Alone in a thought
a singular motion rushes
A MENDOZA, 2016
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