I watch you dance among the sunbeams drifting across your 3D stage.
You hang in the light like I hang in bed. We are vermin.
The House Proud seek to eradicate us, throw us to the open sky or trap us with wet, microfiber, bleach, and mops.
I wish to spin and drift as freely as you upon the currents of the thick air suspending you amongst your fellows.
You are spindly and blue like the sky, a fiber broken from your kind to drift among the toilet paper's dandruff and the lint.
At any other distance, you would be a wild carnivore on cleanliness, a morsel twisted and bent upon a finger, a speck of white,
but as I sit transfixed, a birdwatcher of your kin, I spy your rarity, your beauty, your loneliness.
Like you, I am an intruder to this place, underperforming my life.
You were meant to be clothes, to cover our shame bond with millions of your likeness until you were pilled, pulled, or pruned into the lint like your companions of the air.
But here you are atop the drifter currents lazily enjoying the sway with cotton puffs and skin.
I too submit to my lazy habits as I stoop and stare upon your drifting mass, dreaming of the lack, the allowance, the world of your life.
But we are vermin, I must eradicate myself.
I need to learn to be a Productive Member of this Ancient Clockwork and claw my way atop my comrades, an inch-worm searching for the top of the fisher's can so I am not squished by my friends and family, my other half.
And I must be pilled, pulled, and pruned, drugged by the repetitious nonsense they shove down my throat as sugar, caffeine, and anti-inflammatories.
If only there was more time I would fly leisurely between my destinations. I could drift from place to place, land and jump up again as the wind chose me from thousands. I would not be pulled by traffic, lights, and priority, just a drifter again in our world.
I would not pluck my feathers, bleed myself, scratch my itches like an impatient dog who can't wait for the fly to drift back into oblivion, where he belongs.
No, I must be pretty as a peacock and strong as an ox, and clean in home, body, and mind
to perform this bloody march towards that which I already love, Dust.
I remember when we first found these creaky wooden planks threaded by ancient ropes from another time when people walked for adventure and had time for out of the way bridges off the familiar footpaths in summer mornings just before the sun rose.
Just like the wandering youth used to you would lace your fingers between mine and we would kick our legs sitting side by side laughing about dancing fish, and sinking ships, and throwing rocks over shallow waters wondering how the creek might feel under our fearless feet if we dared to drop down.
There’s something about bridges and about you, that made me feel like i had gone somewhere else that shouldn’t really exist in the fragile place between my most deeply rooted reality and the hopes I dare not even dream where I can’t quite catch my breath.
But I’m breathing now and here we stand on opposite sides of a dried up creek, the space between us cracked and where there was once gentle water now lies empty like a challenge or maybe just a place the world should forget again and this bridge between us broken.
you should know i am a time traveler & there is no season as achingly temporary as now
I am no more Than a saltine cracker Waiting to crumble, For you to break me apart. I wait for rivers of salt, For the crunch; my final plea. Then the silence that follows As you digest, Contemplating me. When a decision is made, When it is all set and done, I am no more to you Than a pile of poo.
A call rose up from where I slept in the night Chill Autumn Shrills on cracked leaf-s of birds' toes and I Started! awake thinking a War was on the Break.
It was a myriad at once; Hostility & Conflict was all that had been on the loose for years My heart a pile of WelltERed shrink-wrapP,, , it was so on Defense and this like Billows of smoke to my newborn 'nd pillow-pucker'd eyes! The dusty site of the ground, Barren Creases, on my socks that unCeasingly reported back with Slides & Indeciscive slip-shods! My life was at risk here in a blindside of FEER; and I forgot my who and cause Like the nearest owl raked it from the seat of my throat.
In heavy-laden breath, on shaking knee I tottered trying to scout While remaining also still; buuuuut all the sounds of peace made me doubt I guess I could have merely been DisMan-T'led in dreaming... Now Now, Yet! My clothes had all but rent themselves of my Legs & Breast Surely something of Lightning in this Vicinity had craFsh_ Landed.
Quite splenetic & more cross by the second, I harumphed but a little And Oh, it was a leafy bush that next shivered with a giggle This horseplay was no funny, to wrench a dreamer from restful thinking - But 'tif I knew who it'd be I would have smiled and stopped speaking } 'Stead of demanding vociferously who was there She cut me to the quick as she tentatively creeped out; yet could one Grasp or guess the kindly chutzpah Gathered Ami'st her scrutinizing & Meddlesome, curious crouch? %# She slit apart the nearest reed of grass, and riddled something wry with her eyebrows before she tore the air apart by positioning it behind The hidden curve that were her Drafting lips ~
The first line in a wild, indigenous Composition of Friendship That Not Far a voyage of time, would make Twain two flesh ~~
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