i've got the questions for dreams, and i know they cant speak

2003-12-28, 9:44 p.m.

be careful with the ones that know you, the few remaining people that are seeing through your looking glass. not that you could see it, but down the driveway, on the wet cement is your beeing, reflecting like a crystal; all the yellows and whites rival a summer field of wheat. that is what you walk by (this is a 30 minute type) and this is what makes parts of the road dry, not like that charcoal walkway, the quiet night dripping in all directions.

i thought about all the dreams i could recall, all the sunsets and crazy conversations i uttered into my walls; early morning diction that only digital clocks could decipher. but i thought, what have i given back to the dreams, what have they received from a taker, i want to give pieces of my soft self, miniature heart beats that generate blood, revive flesh. the little cells gather like soil around the rivers, ebb and flow of immune concepts, all wrapping around the fleshy pink plates that grind into each other, erupting in solid masses, shooting skyward. the sky, which is tinted with the petals of a purple iris, would all be erected for the dream to live in. for teh dream to breath, i would solve the equation which is innate, the ONE problem that we were given the solution to before we were born; i would give dreams the full lungs of youth and vigor if they could find the words to speak.

i dont know if i can write anymore, i dont know if i can get it across, when i want something, and i write it, i've jumbled the words so that people cant understand what i say; so i miss my goal. time for a change in my pattern of thought.