13 May 2021

A paper kite and a kite with wings

A paper kite and a kite with wings fly together across the sky one with a string at its tail and the other with just a tail that rudders the boat of the bird this way and that when speeding clouds cross the path with much haste and anger caused by spicy mushrooms that make rockets out of little lives that refuse to fly and in the screams of everything that flies could be heard the silent murmurs of little secrets soft and tender like cotton candy in pink and pale green smelling like roses or pineapples that could be seen and heard from the other end of the world but could be smelled only when noses are minded and are pulled away from their presence deep inside someone else’s business crying like a siren in the sea asleep on top of giant snakes that live in submerged caves of Thursday morning prayers after a hearty breakfast of eggs on toast and careless coffee brewing inside little plastic bags of peppermint minting money going after treasures with hand-pulled little carts of infancy refusing to drink milk or to grow up like a bean stalk hiding in it an ocean of oil almost always invisible till it is squeezed tight in between the tips of a thumb and an index finger after the dialing of four hundred and seventy-three numbers on the dial pad of a telephone that pretends to be a typewriter for numbers once every Sunday evening and on scared moments of Wednesday late evenings it pretends to be a calculator instead, oh wow!

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