delusions don't happen by themselves. they need people.

consider the sidewalk. the immense solitude of the cracks.

its geometry breathes like my belief in religion. like tapping

a needle to the skin or a scab where a fix can find a more

permanent vein. sometimes it's no more than an accident.

sometimes it's both. right now I'm neither. but I'm getting

tired of telling myself that there's some kind of reverse

magic to it all.

 

© 2001 Dave Brinks