whisper.art

February 3rd, 2005

Little Green Men

They visit me in my sleep and whisper… words… in my ear.

In my ears. They whisper things that seem like words into my ears, things that slip away upon the first light of dawn (well, whatever light of dawn that can make it through the glass-bricks that form my bedroom window, although it might just be the security light in the parking light) like so many spindles of cotton candy thrown down at the edge of the circus with the tent packed long ago and a cold rain coming out of the East.

Little Green Men

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