Wednesday, 25 November 2009

Untitled #02

There is a needle - a mile high needle.

Sharp and silver tipped - it rests upon a fine point and rises to a head upon which one may stand but not sit.

Symmetry balances precarity - it hangs upon the stillness of the slightest breeze. It stands in frozen time - awaiting history's touch.

Stand now atop your needle. And draw in a cold breath from your feet to your lungs.

Look down. And stay still.

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