Monday, 23 April 2012

Slipping through the rips in space


"What is this place"?


As Harry the Harridan
Wandered bleary eyed
And lifeless
Like an automaton
Without a mind
Of it's own
He stumbled
Purely by accident
Through the tiniest
Of rips
In the fabric
Of space time itself
A world of pure
Random
Abstract
Beauty
A world
Without form
Without reason
Without rules
And a world
Held together
By a thread
Of infinite
Expression


For more short stories, prose, poetry, cut-up writing, and surreal satire visit www.instantnowhere.com and subscribe to an Instant Nowhere Kulture.


Written by Tommy Dandruff

Collage by Heston Quiff


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