Friday, May 11, 2012
Where is the King of Ireland? Many moons have come and past, since I spoke of Tim last. Coherence comes and soon it goes, into the wind from which it blows. My mind is scattered and soon we begin, the end. the finish, the remainder of Tim. A pen rests firm within the depot. Green lights fly far. Tim walks the path of the old ones. Tim walks alone. In the distance Tim realizes there are eyes watching him in the distance. Running now Tim falls upon a small break of table cloth that has been place there by the chicken. Has he been here before? Is he walking.. running .. in circles. The rooster crows. Is he? I love birds.