< 7/16/2011 spin cycle >

all these thoughts are just water droplets
in the washing machine of this ideological world
tossing, tumbling in a furious swirl
trying to eek each other out of existence, in some cases
trying to brighten the mood or soften the pain
while dancing between frays and articles of dirt
and all the while turning and twisting and bunching
spun endlessly against the walls of existence
but still there, still there
as existent as the laws of nature state
the importance of water
and the vivid color of ideas.

and we, vessels that could be
are just like the newest of shirts
tossed without warning into this brew
resistant to the first drops
as they gather on us and weigh on our threads
but eventually they soak into us
make us heavy and moist with inspiration
(one could say soggy with enlightenment)
and we are burdened.

but these clothes never seem to soak forever
as the tide runs out for a time or two
and we are pulled headfirst out of the soup
no longer straight and flat and squared away
but, hopefully, brighter than ever before
softened and
ready for more tossing and turning.

two bodies on a dark bed

Words from the mind of
Hurshel 'todolos' Dunn
A redditor

Two bodies on a dark bed
appear singular.
Fused.
She astride he.
Her head, his chest.
Her legs curled under ribs.
She, slumbering, sinks
into his metronomic breathing.
His breast rises and falls;
she dreams of the ocean.
He lies awake
looking.
His arms a circlet around his world.
Sweat on their skin has dried,
lightly bonding one to one.
They breathe.