pale lit coridoors
the world over they feel the same…a length with no purpose, other than transitory, perfunctory, and obligatory…
despite the first-light spent here, i still walk the wrong way from the door. it’s as if the world’s on it’s head or the walls shift and rotate between stepping out one day and stepping out another.
there’s a sunset aching away just over there; seagulls caw and swoop in the orange glow and the fringes of clouds to become warm and light under a bubble bath haze. but i’ll be reticent to join its space today. the view may be up with the clouds, but the all-pervading fear of what may or may not or might not or will not, or can or could or just possibly… is just around the corner.
sleepyheid falls where our shadows melt to the dream from before…where we lashed a rope to a huge rock, then wrote what had passed onto a folded card, to be pulled down to the wide river bed, sunken with all the secrets of the world. to a place where river water brushes the inked paper clean, dissolving the words to mere curls of letters, crisping over life, in nurture, holding back the flood.
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