Day 1638, clown. Day's pictures, Poetry They say some clowns clown because they touch sadness with one hand ~ while you only feel it ~ but some clowns clown without knowing that there is sadness
Day 1637, art of the struggle. Books, Poetry O dear leader let us all look at you in one direction ~ give us play while we despair in despise ~ and make us shout THE WORLD IS NOT BURNING IT’S JUST ON FIRE
Day 1636, painful. Day's pictures, Poetry I don’t know why I have to carry this extra weight ~ my belt is useless now except for smacking you in the face mirror man
Day 1635, bite. Day's pictures, Poetry I have a collection of tiny teeth that all have at one day chewed on me ~ I picked them up when I look down ~ I see no marks but I think they are on my back because there it is where it hurts
Day 1634, tiny. Day's pictures, Poetry It crawled into me between my grey and my hat ~ a tiny thought that I quickly flicked away
Day 1633, junkyard. Day's pictures, Poetry Even my name tagged on to me is wearing of ~ maybe it’s better that way
Day 1632, your face. Day's pictures, Poetry It looks like I see your face again in everything ~ maybe you disappear when I open the door for a while ~ so you know you can come in
Day 1631, turn. Day's pictures, Poetry I see in front of me a wall and a ledge but I can’t reach it ~ I guess you can see a better future from up there ~ I wonder why I still stare at this grey wall
Day 1630, judge me. Day's pictures, Poetry Almost all of you are judging me ~ and I wonder why you don’t
Day 1629, HtwoO. Day's pictures, Poetry On our way towards our need ~ we get distracted by all the lushness we see ~ and only later do we drink from the well in the valley where we linger the water that we need
Day 1628, rise. Day's pictures, Poetry Sometimes you look early in the morning and the sun tells you a truth ~ and it looks beautiful
Day 1627, roads. Day's pictures, Poetry Moving to a new place ~ the hills are different here the roads familiar ~ the sun sets now behind that tree but also at the same place
Day 1625, wasted time. Day's pictures, Poetry I woke up in a time that stood still ~ floating suspended by wires ~ somewhere in mid-air ~ I woke up in the afternoon it was time to go home