Tuesday, 11 October 2011

Flowing Meat

Time crawls, becomes heavy, the air is thick with it.
We are pinned to the ground by its overwhelming weight.
Our eyes are glazed, seeing into eternity.
A lava flow, endlessly delayed as it seeps over us, never quite drowning us.
We are but meat, heavy, leaden meat.
The sound vibrates through us, merging us into its awe.
Everything almost, almost, almost stops.

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