Feb 12, 2002
The later it gets, the earlier it seems.
The longer I go, the further I get.
The more I, the less I.
I can hear crickets. And the refrigerator humming. And someone coughing on the street. I can hear my own desire to be hearing all of this in my dreams. I can hear my reluctance to let sleep come. And yet when I listen, I can hear scarcely anything at all. The sounds find me, but the meaning eludes me. And time runs short. And sleep beckons.
I'm glad there is water. I am the bearer of a powerful thirst.
posted by Mary Forrest at 2:13 AM | Back to Monoblog