Haibun: Dried Jelly
Our words are but relics, maybe echos, never the real thing. Every sound out of my mouth that attempts to communicate seems to be referencing to past things in the effort to explain or reveal something. Even future predictions come from the past. Every word, every thought is rooted in the past. The past is what we build off of.
Inefficiently we dance around metaphors and past events, hoping to clarify. You with your experiences and me with mine, lining them up as best as we can in hopes to know and be known. Sometimes these past events work to communicate, but most of the time, our past events are like this prickly pear’s insides, once delicious and useful but now dried up in the sun or the air of time passing.
prickly pear jelly
straight from its belly, or was.
goo: summer’s deli
Inefficiently we dance around metaphors and past events, hoping to clarify. You with your experiences and me with mine, lining them up as best as we can in hopes to know and be known. Sometimes these past events work to communicate, but most of the time, our past events are like this prickly pear’s insides, once delicious and useful but now dried up in the sun or the air of time passing.
prickly pear jelly
straight from its belly, or was.
goo: summer’s deli
 |
| & Haiku: Dried Jelly |
