Friday, March 18, 2005


... sweet dreams are made of cheese

outside the window the sky is grey and ominous and the complexion of every cloud looks down on the innocent beach with contempt and disdain. the wet rocks huddle close together by the bluff for safety and shelter while all the boats run for a safe port and let foolish men drive the 110.

on grey days, my dreams turn to love and the chasm inside me that aches for fulfillment while i drink warm coffee and draw little invisible finger pictures on my desk.

the world is for the bound. those who are attached to framework of society with thier hearts and souls. sometimes i can hear sweet soft voices in the dark that tell me 'it will all be o.k.' and as quickly as they show up they fall away with the morning sun and leave me to my solemn business.

so now the burden falls upon the lonely. sitting squarely on weak shoulders. pulling the weight of fallen expectations with naked feet on cold bathroom tiles. the clock radio plays 'sweet dreams' while the rain quietly lets me know i am not alone.