Sunday, August 28, 2016

Dead Teeth

I had forgotten that I cared about this at all until I found myself on the outside. I've always been ignorant of scenery - what does one do with mere perception of the external? An azure sky gushing emollient clouds like a bottle of shampoo from some rural liquidation store. The trees look like aluminum, save for the metal. They rust like aluminum does. The grass looks like bright green icing on a birthday cake; if only I could taste it. The cows get to. Why did I go to the trouble of over-complicating these dumb things? They really don't matter to me. I could have just said that the sky is blue, and the clouds white, and that the trees are withering, and that the grass is green. I know God's somewhere though. Is he not the air itself? But the others. How do they render joy from all this? What do they see in it that I don't? I find a castle made of dead teeth. It's not the building I had quite imagined.


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