8:16 p.m. - 2003-08-09
the circus
a storm of white horses surrounds us.
i dream of flying and the air turns to ice. the exits are not what they used to be, but struggling through the blinding filth i see a light.
cobwebs like memory cloud my vision, a unilateral dream inside a shape of chance.
softly darkly beautiful.
concrete dreams. asphalt nightmares. the taste of rotting fruit on the back of my tongue is a reminder of the things i once loved.
