I saw this scene on my way back from yoga.
Hallelujah! Someone’s walking tall to the Christmas ball.
Here’s a year-end poem just because:
Waking up in ‚Ä®a submarine
Waking up in a submarine,
. . . curtains of liquid glass . . .
I am the foetus dreaming
in the library, roseate
from illuminated texts,
my nubby arms conducting
squalls of rain, each drop
a globe encoded with spectra
. . . world upon world upon world
of naked minds being born
W.H. Chong 2010
+ + +
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
See you in 2011, say, around the later half of January. Ooroo!