pt 3

I'd made some tea and infused it with so much gravity that we stuck to the floor. We had to draw our way back up, with pens, pencils, nibs of all kinds, some broken, some Baroque, left hand, right hand, elbow. The backs of my knees laughed, we laughed, you laughed in a dream. These were times of great sincerity and effortless play. Water fell in front of tall lights in the darkness. Eagles came to mind, I saw the result of their kill. Death cycle, life cycle, bicycle. We lived on telling our dreams and on CCTV feeds and the recorded voices of men who'd been taken to see the universe. It was promised, silently, that I would. It was promised, later, that a small lamp would be placed on the floor. The street promised to keep being filled with traffic in the morning. The earplugs promised to be perpetually separated from one another by a distance of one foot. I wondered about the life of plastic toys. I know they end up in the ocean.