Friday, December 5, 2008


möwen, die gräfin

the child dreams another invention into creation. that's 13 this month alone. in those rare moments he sits, not speaking, staring away, I hear the sound of wind as his mind buzzes through itself, beyond itself, to an undiscovered world, and returns with its little token. pocket knives with high energy laser ("light amplification by means of stimulated emission radiation" he reminds me) beams. two sided photo cameras so you can capture yourself and your object simultaneously, a contraption to untune pianos, a levitation wheelchair, a peaceful world.


q falls asleep listening to Ravel.
it is warm, but it rains anyway.
he can hear it against the window softly.
the fan too, a rhythmic chug.
the lights are morphing into clouds and daffodils and static noise.

in a moment nothing will matter.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

heaven is the heavy for one back to carry... perhaps that is what our hands are for?