fall tuesday

dream


there's a pile over here and there's a pile over there

there are piles wherever i look

i cannot see the flat places

i believe the piles are hollow and i believe the hollows are singing

the topology of this place is complicated

i am a connecting function

i have no enemies here and the sky is a grid of fog

the birds are cones sharp points and gleaming in the scarce grey light

it is dawn or maybe i never went to sleep

the singing grows louder and the fog crystallizes and drops through the cones popping them like old bubbles

i am approaching a limit

i do not know if i can increase forever or if i will shrink down to zero

zero is where there is no singing and all hollow places collapse

i close my eyes and wait for an eraser



geo
oct09