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Icarus amid the verge. Icarus standing in tall wildflowers and haze. Out here where the asphalt crumbles into tarry pebbles, obsidian droppings of an obscene snake. Looking over his shoulder he is beautiful, and a hint of sexy like a tart angel with just a hint of blood in his eye.
Who wants to be behind us when there's this rippling in the haze before us?
Pointing: Yes, let's follow that.
And slowly we stalk forward hands outstretched to the level of our hips to feel the breath of grassblades and flowerheads soft and sweet a momentary brush with bottled light and a tickling endlessness to transport us seamlessly from wavering plant to wavering plant. Downhill so slowly the color deepening is the only sign we've truly passed out of that steelglass and crumblecrete landscape into new country.
Who wants to be behind us when there's this rippling in the haze before us?
Pointing: Yes, let's follow that.
And slowly we stalk forward hands outstretched to the level of our hips to feel the breath of grassblades and flowerheads soft and sweet a momentary brush with bottled light and a tickling endlessness to transport us seamlessly from wavering plant to wavering plant. Downhill so slowly the color deepening is the only sign we've truly passed out of that steelglass and crumblecrete landscape into new country.