Today the world offered up it's reasons for claiming you as one of its perfect oddities. A defense in the name of the sky, I guess. She handed me each as though on a plate, just so.
She had gotten defensive-- I was full of accusations, and suspected that she could not produce you, that this must be some kind of alien prank, to puff her up. But then, this. Leaning against a window, soft glass nearly sticky with cold, I caught snow through the steamy condesation by my eyes. The intonations of the swirls were perfect for a blizzard-- and I turned, to a storm of choked-sad seagulls, who kept spinning in the alley, because there was nothing of you for them to fly to. Then the sky made her second attempt at justification. Bloody violet clouds surrounded a horizon as circular and rolling as my eye, and a cackling, luminescent blue which crawled out of the center, fingers first, and tentacles after, like a star-nosed mole, or a nest of glittering snakes made of anthropomorphic neon, and dripping with the space slime of every star in the thick, swimming sky. It couldnt reach you--the sky is not big enough. When all else failed, she sent me an ice cream truck, that played "Greensleeves". _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
