When the muse strikes I play tennis with her,
inevitably hitting the ball so hard
it collides with her face and knocks her out.
Oops.
Tag: collision
Escape
The ants crawl up the paper wrapper. Crisp. Slicing away at the butter within. Our eyes travel with them as they take their neat cubes back down the trail, meeting their brothers in traffic. Disconnect. A crash. Cymbals rained down on our heads. An ambulance was called. And police. The first and second violins screeched in erratically, but they didn’t stop. No long notes. Connect. The ants march on. We are the car behind. We are, we are, we are.
Treeshallow Musings 