Strange Fun is More Than Here

It’s not too loud

It just comes through




A single-stroke bell

Conversation wafts around on spindrifts

Filling up two rooms – floor, window, ceiling

They are small, weightless ashes

They are wisps of smoke and soft as foam;

Fog around my feet

Loud quiet loud, loud quiet loud

Silence between sounds

Seeps into my ears like a whispered cipher

Cracked by the swishing of soles

Ears to the listening glass of a mirror world

The party goes on; it goes…

Past, present, future, infinite

But it’s never too loud

It just comes through





About LVital7019

Just your normal, everyday 9-5er. An uninspiring position in an inspirational non-profit moves me to constant goof-offery; aimless, on-the-job procrastination; a crankiness that borders on psychosis; and attempting to craft something meaningful with words. Just another so-called-job inspiring someone to feats of insanity with a hint of creativity... (Insert demonic laugh HERE.) View all posts by LVital7019

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Tony Single

artist. wastrel. a quantum of potential.

The Greenwich Village Literary Review

A magazine by writers who love to write for readers who love to read.

The Winter Bites My Bones

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