4.15.12 | 3 A.M., to say the least.

creature person, 

today was like ingot & hung in ochre by noontime. it left as an ingot again for the other piece of sky that blows westward. I napped with my eyes shut & palms in fresh water during the beginning to night with heavy handed light & looming thunder, under an awning. they were both like lullabies and spoke some ancient language my dreams know. in the woods, morels were hunted in the maze of brown & gloom. it was a vertical thicket where ground mud grew to bark that grew to vine until it was in branch form. all were disheveled like sleeping monsters in mammoth shapes. amidst that wyeth palette, a cardinal sat like a needle prick of red and fluttered like a pulse to the scenery - a breathing signature. there was no sound but hail in the high branches.