Like nail polish in the sand . . .
and foot prints in time . . .
through the constrictions of glamour . . .
representations of power . . .
we strive for perfection . . .
our signs emerge from the flatness . . .
we inject them with life . . .
we speak them quite boldly . . .
and wear them as skin . . .
when our signs become real . . . The reality is lost.
(The End) © Brett Dorron 2008.