Thursday 4/05/2007 12:49:00 AM

The afterward in textiles. Red. Blue. Brown. Fits of solitude like corkscrews pulling the plug from champagne bottles. We go to sleep together and wake up alone. Stale with contrition fast to the soles of our shoes. The metaphor subsides and waits for our input. While we hunt and peck our way to happiness.

The dashboard choking through the dark. Straightening slowly against the girth of the distance. All melted sugar. Hot molasses on my spoon. The tired houseflies sanity breeds when there's nothing left to want.

The snore of tomorrow explaining everything.


The afterward. In colors. In textiles. As if we knew each other.

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