Thoughts, Stories, Poems
a pile of wood to last us or maybe bones I can’t remember…
Mitchel David Ring
A landscape done in oil pastel hangs on the wall below the staircase…
Come tell me what the forest says…
why not stay dissolved?
I’m not going to say anything that my eyes haven’t already said…
skin worn over bones like before…
This feeling like a memory has entered me…
once this fell roaring from the mountains…
Ignore the blood on the snow it will wash away come spring…
These are strange waters and stranger still the waves…
Like claws they rise above me, the trees, grasping at the sky…
The secret must be written on the bones why else would they keep them here…
streets passing by a world dreamt and dreaming creation at the touch of thought…
It’s like the waves came and washed everything away…
The air smells of rain and the sea…
The Light is On 