Spare Colors

The speculation stems from a howling lull that swirls across the sky. I watch and gaze and smile all over the gaseous arms that resides on earth as the spaceship leaves the lips of worldly land. I took a long, golden look at the fetal families of the spacemen, they were on the zenith of sanity, crying their hearts out and choosing to drown in their hidings across the country time.

We may all be abject in graves sixn feet under, obsequiously rumbling as office drinkers, may be cooked by the thunder. But you and I, you- the human is all I have to talk to, to like and to love and you have no better than me-another human, to know as a friend.

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