waking up softly...
baby pink eyeliner
smooth
plane at night
like the freeway, smooth
landing on the freeway
it's OK
one with a couple cars
descending is always
so evokative
so much "on this view"
of LA
the return to something
so large
it's impossible
to make a word
for the whole of it
instead,
collecting corners
and vague theories
of grounded-ness
in the freaking air
the view and it's follow through
never cease to be the opposite
of home, old and cold, cave-like
once I've touched down I know how to go about the rug to make it fun and some playmates are there waiting
it's the rug in one room of my home theory
it can be exciting, in the basement
I've gotten to know it well although it remains xL
I don't associate myself with this rug off the bat but there's something about it for me for sure after all it is in one room of my home theory and there are playmates there waiting for me even if some are unfamiliar or strangely big zooming in on movement hovering now waiting to be actually back again trapped in the rug until I take anther night plane and get eaten next to for six hours bags and bags of kosher junk and a hat box in the overhead sliding looking cool in secret the eater whispering into his cell phone a mystery glow under his seat and a few bumps here and there is an understatement and one week is simply confusing
