Tonight she wishes to dream of a room of shelves. High, low, attached, wooden, swiveled, painted, plasticked, etc. On these shelves be there swarms of walkie-talkies all switched to channel 6. They will have the power on and crying a fuzzy wah. Anyone she'd ever like to meet has the twin talkie laying on the side of their head. She'll spend her REM dream time paying attention to every wicked walkie. She will whisper secrets into the holes, she'll whisper want and whimper, she'll know every answer.
There will be no response for that is not the aim of the child. Tonight is for her, only. At least, in her dreams. The frequency of her chatter measures nothing towards the mediocre amplitude.
No comments:
Post a Comment