the drying streets sutra

it was charming and i had hours of rain-sleep last night. evening now, over drying streets with sister ray on and pages, filled, falling across themselves, words tripping over nothing, watchingout warehouse open garage doors at trees like tarantula forrest, tropical, grey/blue tint across the lenscap of life, littered slightly then roughly, then barely at all (in rows and columns) with at least the pacific ocean falling across the earth. and color is eyeing us from everywhere, careful and new. no one alnywhere is alone. not like this.

2003-05-22 | 12:10 p.m.
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