26 April 2007
Like paper aeroplanes, firm decided instructed creases on pulp. They fly, but for a moment. Before they land. Formless again, as you unfold them with your fingers. Origami – paper art. You taught me to fold hearts.
A dragonfly zipped past our shoulders between the clouds of fume which had gathered in the past hour of our conversation and dragged some of it away with its tail or battered it with its wings. Do they have tails? It stopped ahead of us waiting for us to catch up.
Like the smoke, the dragonfly was invisible; but tender.
We have a three-way with the music. The left ear bud to your ear, the right to mine, connected to the player. Like an insomniac trying to find the perfect lullaby, you never get your way with a complete song. Goodnight, you say.
You have found the rhythm to sleep.
As I lay in my bed, trying to conjure a faultless dreamscape, I realize I can never commit mistakes in dreams; they come only with the living.
D woke up at 4/26/2007 11:43:00 PM [comment]
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