A train indecisive up a hill. I study her, she ignors, forward and upward. Stream whispers. I know it's just a dream.
In this hot kiss of summer, I sweat memories. Rewind buttons drip toward earth. My companion in this exercise, struggles against her own ingenuity. A little closer to a perfect angle. A little more naked before god.
Memory and whispers answer to no one, a free expression of mindlessness - zen for critics. When we lose ourselves in our labor, we be. We really just be.
I see the ass of the train, a beautiful way to imagine a brief companion. Whispers can't be seen now, must have stopped talking to herself. Convinced, of the rightness of her expression.
photo: taken w/ iPhone 3Gs Hipstamatic app (Helga Viking, Afred Infrared)
