But there are a lot of you
out there.
The little faces beneath the night.
The reflecting eyes beneath overcast
skies, and dreamers, without dreams.

And we gather
like butterflies; like bees. Like beetles
under wet rocks and moths by backyard porch
lights.

And we twist. We grip. We stretch our arms
around eachother, pulling and rending our
clutches; until we have extracted heart and soul from
two-dimensional voices, the words making
pictures behind drooping eyelids.

If only we could sleep.

08/14/2007

Author's Note: I've had issues sleeping, lately

Posted on 08/15/2007
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