the flags of the gas station, glowing against the dusty grey of the sky
the poppies glow with an orange halo where the light hits them.
After the poppies' petals fall, a small pouch wrapped in something that looks like black filigreed lace is left.
Some of the pouches burst, creating a white fur-like stole
From the back, the spreading petals look like the wing of a butterfly
I show Y. a beetle in the sand. She grabs it in her little paw, and I watch helpless, suddenly terrified for its fragile hair-like legs, waving desperately.
The way the wheat grows in perfectly straight lines, like somebody laid down a rope and all the seeds sprouted from there
The overly sweet sugar taste the cake, that drowns out all other flavors
the dark blue sheet, billowing in the wind, entangled in bright blue exposed wires
Comments
Post a Comment