Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #dailywriting, aggregated by home.social.
astrology in confined spaces
the
bubbles in the paint showing
bad tidings ahead. our limbs are
sore from falling. our necks
craned towards
dull windows,
the pain mixing
with interpretations;
on days like these even
bad things seem worse. even
the unlikely is certain:
there are mice in the walls
watching like secret agents;
our phones are listening but
nothing else is. no,
no one else is.
the breakdown of practice
and nothing comes from the speakers.
everyone
stitches odd glances here and there –
was this the
intent? is
this what we’re here for?
this nothing?
this no-one?
the emptiness intentional,
the pauses bleak and earnest,
the eternity of looking for
an end never in sight,
a beginning never begun;
a performance with no
actors; only bewilderment –
only wild silence.
columnar
the sound and fury signifying nothing
is the signal; they are loud.
they are angry. they are
as right as they think they are.
the columns are crumbling, the
air is thick with their breathing as
they heave, heave, heave,
ropes and hands and
the erosion of sweat and oil.
the columns are crumbling at
the touch and something,
something is,
something is slipping loose