2014-02-13

going without getting

Winter shines through a hole in my hand. When I sleep, I dream of insomnia. I wake up early to type and let a little light out of my head. The room devours windows and doors. This is the loneliness of lost and abandoned astronauts. Reaching without ever touching. Wind whistles through the hole of my reaching hand. Asian women in black nylons rushing away into the fog of cities and woods.