396.

Time is a trapped, wild
animal, caged by a clock's
static dissection.

395.

Diluted passion,
offered up as a loser's
trite consolation.

394.

A swath of velvet
sorrow, dressed amidst the flood
of emotion's ease.

393.

A sad, gray cast day,
with the sea shimmering grief
and the sky lament.

392.

The press of those just
passed images tunnel through
my brain and take root.

391.

Words take me away,
speaking in languages that
tear thought's asunder.

390.

Sometimes what I see
behind my lids far extends
the beauty in front.