the in crowd
Posted to Poetry
by buddhabitch on 2002-02-18 10:01:00
cogs in the wheel
small perceptions
inner/outer planes
dissecting the universe
with a pen
there is bound to be
something undigested
at the core
one's place in the galaxies
a lone cold place
lite with myriad suns
spinning in a circle
round and spherical
to the end
begin again...
