sunday morning

November 28, 2006

an archive, as it were:

there’s a sky on the ceiling of the bathroom.

lying floating lying on my back beneath the blue, painting white clouds
clouds
clouds with tired eyelashes.

where is the grey?

cooling bathwater, steam on skin on stars beyond
clouds that are painted and unpainted with a thousand brushes.  staring, seeking, flat.

sinking, stealthy.

embryonic echoes, searching for comfort in sincere
simplicity.  one before aloneness was not alone.

ceiling boundaries, hands outstretched tracing
patterns through rolling white clouds

blue blue and sun tiles through closed eyes

dim dreaming

not quite hot(not) enough.  a little uncomfortable.

sunlight shifting beyond the window’s pane, sounds of the streets
that are not mine and
a day

i have not yet begun.

(skies are limits)

dreamily,
augustine

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