on a impulse

Out of white haze perception inserts a page of clearly defined lines as point of focus trapped like cells in a prison of perspective cannot break free.


Like words that flow off the top of the head singular letters in the sand written by the hand of the invisible force behind everything spontaneous behind random entrances into fickle flows tripping unwary visionaries sent as missionaries to sway the mind of the host.


Fickle like a fish, stage name Pebbles, she danced within her personal world of swirls of colour and amused the faces in their inverted distorted vision bowl.


Never refuse to let refuse become the subject of attention in the abstract dimension created by the juxtaposition of elements to tell a story.


Arising from the sand and carved by time and the effects of the weather the exposure of the root of the matter was a fallen tree waiting for the sea to take it away.


Though this wasn't at all what I had hoped to get when I saw some kind of photo as we passed by on the highway. I think a trip out on the dock would have got me the shot but, well, it was a little slick and they did have a danger sign up, and I can guarantee that water is cold.