maybe we're all
on our own journey.
maybe my street is
never going to be yours
and my fruit vendor
who fancies
people call him
"Two Brothers"
will never make you chuckle.
or maybe there is
a grand plan
or a cosmos
that we're all a part of.
who's to say -
our stories are our own.
are we canvas.
or the brush?
I'd like to think
of myself
as both.
the painter and
the paintee.
however - what if
I was intent on painting
your hairline
onto my story.
the tense seems
to have changed
and I will have to evoke
whirlwinds
to really know.
No comments:
Post a Comment