The God of Small Things
My words are waiting inside my pen,
waiting to flood the paper with its purple blood.
I'm anxious enough to realise
that the only means to fully comprehend them
is writing things down.
But only the small things.
It just happens to be the way I'm made.
To think. To understand. To feel.
Tea-coloured mind pouring through
my inky tranquillizer.
waiting to flood the paper with its purple blood.
I'm anxious enough to realise
that the only means to fully comprehend them
is writing things down.
But only the small things.
It just happens to be the way I'm made.
To think. To understand. To feel.
Tea-coloured mind pouring through
my inky tranquillizer.
posted by HL at 22:12
3 Comments:
We mathematical reductionists can only work with the small things. But from the small we can get insights into the large.
Milky English tea? Green tea? Rosehip tea? Tea so weak as to be transparent? Or so strong as to be almost black?
You're right: our minds are multicoloured dreamcoats.
abre la llave y que salgan ya!
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