there are these things that tunnel the light into my eyes. like a bright spike that pierces them and sends the light colliding with my soul. this light is a conscience transcending, reason defying, meaning bereft wake up call. like rock on today. and god knows what else, and what else about it than a smoke signal. from an island hidden among the waves while im at sea.
the epidemic is widespread, like elliot's yellow london fog, licking its tongue into street corners and curling up about the house before going to sleep. but these horrid morbid tales arejust stories narrated to pass the time, and men become dragons. god becomes the devil and each day becomes the next just as easily as truth becomes marmalade and my beautiful lovely jelly quivering on a spoon.
but the light from the sos fires seem like so many wigwams that have left a fire burning for a weary traveller at the end of day. im not the traveller not(yet). im waiting for travellers to return, and waiting all the same to travel with them that are waiting to travel.