thing is i know the echoes that flitter to and fro
I love looking into the eyes of one whose are dark as mine.
but sometimes its mirror image makes a negative space between two
and sometimes is lost in never.
well there may be few
there may be many,
all we know is that when they arrive. its for real.
theyll sit there like theyre not giving a fuck.
theyll sit there like nervous twitch just itching to touch you
theylll sit there like flowers:
decomposing in the sun,
flourishing in the wet ice.
And now remember
theyll come unto you like a maniac dream
and sometimes all you want is to sleep in that dream for ever
sometimes when you wake up, it all feels like its been robbed
sometimes when you come down from the ladder you get a headache comeuppance.
why does it even matter.
dreams are television like life is theater.
