Mr noodle sat on the seashore staring out over the peaking waves that lead to the unknown but the unknown is not really the unknown it is a fragment of your imagination that makes you think that Mr noodle was staring out over the sea shore eating salty hotdogs that were cut into munchkin bites by his son which gazes out into sunsets over the fence which leads us to the birds silhouetted by the dusk light that fly into your imagination where salty hotdogs aren't really salty but they still are soggy due to the moist precipitation because the young little children cry themselves to sleep as they wonder about why Sally sold seashells but not really seashells but their little hearts that beat with a dryness of the red water in the void of their little brains that don't know which way is up and which way is down but the way that is forward and the way that is backwards but maybe one day the little rabbits that drink their colas and tapioca in the dawn light of the weeping willows that rest near the grassy grass forest wear little fingers and spider legs crawl and fly to be killed by the grassy grass cats that lerk in the shadows of what they don't know nor understand how their existence comes to be by the crystals in their veins of rainbow blood that moistens as they grow older and eat their depression till the wings of the flapping butterflies finally stop to take a break in the grassy grass lands where the pine needles drift for the summer and go to sleep for they don't know that everything exists in this void that we call our universe.
YOU ARE READING
MR. NOODLES VOID.......
PoetryI take you on my own journey through what I feel is time and space in a nutshell that I would like to share with the weeping children of the void.