i wander the alley
squished between buildings of hope
and delusion.
maybe i'm wrong.
maybe they're the same skyscraper
and the dark laneway i stumble through
is just the space inside the walls.
smoky hands snatch at me
and my cardboard brain drowns itself in watery milk
desperate to get away from the fire they seem to infer.
will the flame be pleasant?
will it char my scarecrow thoughts?
i'd rather not find out, thank you.
and then.
and then
another hand grabs mine.
but this time, it feels tangible. human.
a voice whispers
midnight lights are a weaver's best friend.
i'm floating
up
up
there are stars...
