August 7th, 2002 - 2:54 a.m.

Excuse me Madame, but your _________ is showing. (Nothing naughty.)

Tread lightly, for the path is constructed of frail grey and red thread; and must be rewoven mid step in order to avoid total collapse. This is becoming habitual maintenance.

Traversing into the distant horizon, a reverie, pure white, unending in scope, (specific to its strata), seemingly pressed by infinite glass. Like a tragic insect, caught in its prime, beauty displayed. But transient. We will see you again someday.

And with the dancing tips of tender ends, emerald, cutting into cheerful blue. Here we live in perfection. Here, there is no place for strife. Here, dangerous disaster has no bearing. Here we are cardboard cut outs, on display.

N.

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