LOVE THY MEGAN

momentum temporis vita..

when the shadow hits the wall outline of hair becomes brittle pine needles.

feet cold and torso hott the silence has begun to make its own sound.

low whistling humming like sad violins and the creaking of desolate machines left to rust in barbed wrecking yards.

when the shadow hits the wall outline of machine forms a hyper-reality.

and he's so inconsolable.

.

the then the now