No Entires Could Empty
Something from a late October. I remember this. Peering at feeling, a slow pulse. Not getting close, shooting at seventy five. Casual stuff. Nothing abnormal. Last twenty minutes of light. Friction of breeze tangled in sage, a low glow coupled with the wanting of a fire horizon, the hopes of something along those lines, which never occurred. Haunts or the happening of, or maybe it was both, luring in the curious eye. It was the opening scene, aiming through worn existence, a forgotten entrance. It was a kind of reckless, but still had this mood, although I’m not sure which mood. I remember thinking, with key of importance, the atmosphere was carved in mood. That was the scene. Within that cloud of mood (and again I’m not sure which mood, maybe it’s supposed to stay that way), I had found a pulse.
So it’s not entirely empty.