As glass separates rooms and the world, hanging illusions of each, I hang a window of words to describe the scene, and end up beating my wings against these mere reflections. Being the window would be the thing, but I'm only inside or out. The fortunate moths have no idea that they have no idea. I have the idea and nothing else but reflections. The shared voice of breeze and trees says things I can't. How can I write on air?
-
- rejectomorph (
flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind
Ordinary Night
As glass separates rooms and the world, hanging illusions of each, I hang a window of words to describe the scene, and end up beating my wings against these mere reflections. Being the window would be the thing, but I'm only inside or out. The fortunate moths have no idea that they have no idea. I have the idea and nothing else but reflections. The shared voice of breeze and trees says things I can't. How can I write on air?
-
Reset Thirty-Six, Day Seven
Tuesday I managed to get the laundry done at last. For a couple of weeks either my schedule was off or the laundry room was already in use, and I was…
-
Reset Thirty-Six, Day Six
Monday. Slept, woke up, ate something, took the wheelie bin out to the street, couldn't do laundry because the machine was in use, slept some more.…
-
Reset Thirty-Six, Day Five
I don't recall much of Sunday other than that the sleep came in two chunks again, one by day and one by night, and the nocturnal sleep ended just a…
- Post a new comment
- 1 comment
- Post a new comment
- 1 comment
