Cannonball
Where in the ground below me is a crack , through which half my world seeps into?
Matters of my world that exist and remain without concrete proof. Unresolved and irresolute, defeated my existence would sink and seep down below me.
Funnled Into a space a few inches below the ground that lies in between my feet, directly under my croch. Thats the spot.
Where they colesce into solid mass, made into a round sphere. A sphere coming to be about the mass of a bowling ball. If only because like bowling balls the sphere is much heavier than it would appear. If seen.
It may look like five or ten pounds if you saw it laying there on the ground. But try to pick it up and you would find it much more of an effort. About five hundred kilos, maybe more. A mountain of weight.
Something like the mass of the moon. A solid pitch black, darkk in color, and an internal depth that reaches inquantifiably phantomous depths. Follows me around weightlessly, and weighs me down impossibly. When i walk out my front door, when i go to the kitchen to make breakfast, when i go to the fair to ride the rollercoasters, even when i go to bed at night. Forever my companion, in the shadows of my footsteps. Shine a bright light over the top of my head and it would appear, wouldn't it?
The cannonball is real.
Where in the ground below me is a crack , through which half my world seeps into?
Matters of my world that exist and remain without concrete proof. Unresolved and irresolute, defeated my existence would sink and seep down below me.
Funnled Into a space a few inches below the ground that lies in between my feet, directly under my croch. Thats the spot.
Where they colesce into solid mass, made into a round sphere. A sphere coming to be about the mass of a bowling ball. If only because like bowling balls the sphere is much heavier than it would appear. If seen.
It may look like five or ten pounds if you saw it laying there on the ground. But try to pick it up and you would find it much more of an effort. About five hundred kilos, maybe more. A mountain of weight.
Something like the mass of the moon. A solid pitch black, darkk in color, and an internal depth that reaches inquantifiably phantomous depths. Follows me around weightlessly, and weighs me down impossibly. When i walk out my front door, when i go to the kitchen to make breakfast, when i go to the fair to ride the rollercoasters, even when i go to bed at night. Forever my companion, in the shadows of my footsteps. Shine a bright light over the top of my head and it would appear, wouldn't it?
The cannonball is real.
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