Writings from the Automated hand

It's like light from a defracted dream vision falling on raindrops sliding down a window sill. Or fleecy clouds dissolving in a darkening horizon in the remains of the day. Or maybe a trembling silhouette against a wall when you have shut the door upon the world.

Maybe you and I didn't need coffee,clever verses on cityscrapes or rock to open the clogged doors to perception. We cluch at life but it slipped through our clenched fingers like sand. Didn't someone say that love can't heal what love has wreaked.