Solemn and stricken
as these days may be
there is always a glance
through a window
in which a scene is framed
and something is hovering
in the peripheral wings.

I turn
my head;



and the angle through which I view the surroundings of this particular grit-streaked pane.

There is nothing there.
It’s the same street
with the same people
and the aura
of novelty -
some unseen landscape
teeming with wide open spaces -
is lost

"Art is always and everywhere the secret confession, and at the same time the immortal movement of its time."

i don't like the middle at all. needs work. the rest is cool.
I want Super Saiyan abilities