A collision of bones then?. we stop to look at the fire, our skin expands and melts into one another. and no, I don't really think of any of this, neither molten brown skin nor my cold nose streaked with this.. like those lined in my sleep. i think its ash. or just delusions of empires, monkeys and cats line up in my sleep marching in time to this operatic sound dawoomoomoom.
my shawl crackles and sparks. this is who we are, static sparks. going going nowhere coming from nowhere, just jumping off our electric clothes into the dry air.
But it is nice a scrunche-dup nose to laugh into
also a circus. circuses are nice.
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