Stepping gingerly. Sliding slightly.
Leveraging stability for euphoria,
Beckons venturing further afield.
The promised rush of nothingness.
No weight. No worries. No world.
Latent ice in her veins freezes,
A place to collect, store, and integrate ideas.
This accordian player finishes a gig, throws his accordian into his car and starts home. On the way he stops at a convenience store to get a drink but forgets to lock his door. He comes out of the store, opens the car door and shouts, "Oh no! It's happened again!".
In the backseat now sits two accordians.I wonder if they'll notice the book table getting more full each time we pass.
|I just hope this isn't there.|