Friday, July 14, 2006
Attention, Passengers
Fundamentally.

Air is all around me. It's close enough to vacuum to be,
but not enough for me, not for me.

So they say -

Air is pressing at my figure. It's softer than things that are soft -
feathers, blankets, whispers, grazes, and it burns, it burns.

In, out. In, out:

Air is there underneath my mind. Below the conscious, below the
hollering yelling screaming that is all the time, all the time.

It will be there tomorrow, so -

Air is nothing, it is something. An argument, a cigarette, a sex toy,
another time, a curve, a curve, a curve.
Posted by Anonymous at 7/14/2006 08:47:00 PM ::

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