November 3, 2003

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  It isn’t dreams I hear or dreams I see. it isn’t anything and yet i somehow get the feeling that its everything. even this silence. who’s to say it isn’t talking? or that it has something to say? its right for the moment or moments or time unfolding forever. the silence of ambient sound… gentle wur of the fan, distant air conditioner, the frig buzzing on and off and the thumps of people upstairs. even just the air outside. how do I explain that it all matters in just the same amount that it doesnt matter? how do i explain that to anyone else and how do i explain that to myself? but i asked the question, eventually it might be answered… no rush. lots of time. lots of place. lots of air. lots of people. so much to learn, to notice, to recognize exists.

  
  

  anticipation wakes me
  
  alarm silent
  no light
  no sound
  eyes see what is
  what will be
  
  sleepy feet stumble
  across concrete carpet
  light trickles into quilts
  toes seam rip the blocks
  
  candle burns under carnations
  vision of an idea
  morning growing young
  
  crisp running water
  a bowl of hands
  filling
  to refresh (night) face
  eyes blink back drips
  mirror sees me
  
  typewriter waits
  garbage chair empty
  dim blue light
  sweet morning syrup
  friendly purple mug
  
  imagine
  words to tell
  to type
  to write
  to read
  to send
  
  smiles
  memories
  silly stories
  flavor savers
  wishes and dreams
  stamped for delivery
  
  a conversation
  disconnected
  told gradually
  all at once

  
  

   

  • 8:05 am
  • 5 Comments