{{i wrote this last nite while falling asleep}}
surface connected through the passage of time. dialing phone numbers to a disconnected past. the same fingers that touched her eyelids, always closed.
a non-linear mess of the things we cannot recall. balls of yarn unraveling into words. a cursive language only spoken in sleep. mumbling into dreams that seep into reality. pigment watered by the rains of a misunderstanding. the marbled surface of our bathroom floor.
miscalculated maps wrapped around a broken arm.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment