i feel as if there is viscous liquid ooze clinging to my being. slowly pulling me down into the gray depths of an unknown cavern. resistance comes with little reward as i walk through my life like a nostalgic twenty-something through a childhood memory. the notes linger in my brain like water drops on leaves before giving way to the weight and falling, spinning and twirling to the ground. orange is the color of uncertainty. autumn is upon us and it brings with it a heavy sigh with which the wind in my sails is diluted.
after reading a particularly magnificent passage from 1984, i am entrapped in a musty haze of lucid dreams. i feel the mist on my face as if i were in a tropical forest, concealed and isolated just the same. the delicate murmurs of her voice fade across my thoughts. if not for her nothings then what for alternate somethings? it is suspended not far from my reach like a graceful jellyfish in a warm liquid. when nothing rigid or grounded can speak of it, it will spy on you