the odd narrative

The Odd Narrative Steamed up the window, my finger I paint a landscape, Mountain, forest, and lake; the peak cries into the lake becomes a vast ocean, where trees made into wooden rafts floats Midmorning, there is only an outline left of the crest, this will happen to the Himalayas, it will be a grassland on a plateau where horses gallop, flying mane and all that, since man won’t be there to domesticate and make them drag bunk beds and kitchen stoves around the pampas. The rest of the world will have sunk into a big sea that is so still it spends all its time mirroring the blue sky thinking, it’s seeing is so deeply in love with the image, that doesn’t notice the man in a rowing boat; he’s one time forgotten, he has married a big fish which he thinks is a mermaid, often puts his hand in the sea and strokes the fish’s belly: “without you,” he murmurs “I would truly be alone.”