Fresh from baking under the morning sun, energy flows a quick and meaningful pace as the blackness sets unexpectedly across the field of vision. At once a blind proposition facing the curve in the stream and the instantaneous snap back gawping at the heavens, parched of the flavourless nectar.
Crick two three and a slip of the tongue catches a throttle, heavy in might with all sorts of thrust. Black covers slowly, loudly and the crowd sits in awe, wondering and taking notes on where to take the next day.
Experiments are never on short supply for the curious. And indeed, here lies another opportune moment, being light-headed here is more than just a figure of broken, whispered speech.
Fall out from the reverse cuts constant cravings into the folds and rolls of the matter grey. A palette of most bitter and loose flavours, rich in their pallid nature, poor in the showing of a distinct punch of anatomy.
A little more salt perhaps.
Written on Wednesday, 7 March 2007