| STRANDED Crooked lines made straight in the press, steamed into submission. Fenced in by themselves, and themselves holding the only key.. but eternally forgetting in the timelessness how a flick of the wrist could set them free. A twist the twisted couldn't complete in the framework of a lifetime. Falling on forever into a subconscious shuffle of a stumble onto survival only the fitted could complete, not competing in the future for the stakes are too high. The walls have ears, the years pass unnoticed and the souls linger somewhere in the great divide the masks of fortune displayed unevenly upon the rocks hanging on by a thread ...forever... and climbing upon the same ledge whenever there's an urge to move on and off goes the clock the magnets just too powerful to draw them anywhere but here and now is when they go on and on into nothingness and where everything is hanging tight sealed like a drum. © Sarah Gallant 2001-2002 |