4.12.04

Walking down the grey, misty streets
Silver words line the walk home...
'There's an alice-shaped hole in the universe'

The black and white striped street lights
Bobble up and down with my footsteps

The wind chime twinkles in the wind's pursuasive swaying moves

With the distance blurred and foggy...
Your eyes focus on the near
The once usual objects are transformed in the limited glow
Of the orange halos from the street lamps hovering above

The bare winter trees, once a common sight
Are no longer a sterotype

Their dark trucks raise up from the lighter concentrate
The branches stretch out as complex networks and lattices
Reaching out, feeling the ice