Stinging thoughts converge and take aim.

They are sly and cunning.

Silent in their advance, they entangle the ankles.

Slither over and around, tighter and tighter.

Sunshine brushes the table, so close but distant,

hazy with blurred edges.

Are thoughts trustworthy and believable?

Depends on the day, according to the fine print

at the bottom of the human contract

written in invisible ink.

Good luck finding the damn thing.

Smack on this, a woman shouts, and I concur.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s