Heavy Air

[rejectomorph]

I'm becoming annoyed by the way this storm just hangs around without doing anything most of the time. Yesterday evening's thunderstorm was nice, but since then its been back to the same old overcast, with a bit of half-hearted drizzle now and then. It's been like that for most of the week. Just what we needed- a weather system with the clap.

The chill and damp now permeate everything. The pages of books, the upholstery of my chair, the very walls, all feel as though they had never known warmth. The wold is stored away in some vast room of a deserted mansion, moldering, forgotten. I will dream of mushrooms growing about me as I sleep, engulfing me, absorbing all the rotted trees of all the ages of the forest. I will dream of waking to a fungal world of rubbery, hallucinogenic shapes. A fire needs to be lit in the stove.



Sunday Verse

A Sort of a Song

by William Carlos Williams


Let the snake wait under
his weed
and the writing
be of words, slow and quick, sharp
to strike, quiet to wait,
sleepless.

--through metaphor to reconcile
the people and the stones.
Compose. (No ideas
but in things) Invent!
Saxifrage is my flower that splits
the rocks.