Rapid Eye Pie

The lotus-eaters adjourn — full of Dutchman’s breeches and fox gloves.

Floating.

Touring the recesses and regressing — shading the noncommittal lilacs.

A truffle kabuki in shadow play and detonation — a respectful lunch.

Fingertips asses — illuminating a marginalized yet vital mentality.

Softly.

Somnolent.

A drowsy stoop.

They sop the soporific up — an impossible dream awaits.

No feat of slumber skillet to thwart their sleep.

Doze.

What I’m Reading:

“Whatever exists, he said. Whatever in creation exists without my knowledge exists without my consent.”

— Cormac McCarthy / Blood Meridian, or The Evening Redness in The West