Strips of construction paper gray pasted into the sky…. The moon, thin and white, bares craters and oceans of bleeding glue drops proudly… A child’s few stars, golden and stuck, tear delicately through the mist… hanging brightly on a whim… curling off at the tips….

Stick figures and pipe cleaner trees all around me… faces drawn, features in exact order– desperate smileys– the way they ought to look….

So,  penciled in cars with fluffy innocuous exhaust clouds zoom over and in and out and among half moon green hills–the way they ought to be…

Wavering and shaking lines hold form to the next drawing… tentatively shaded expressions… pencil-smudged cheek bones and exaggerated eyelashes…. the way the girls want them to be…

Yellow house with a pointed roof… chimney and a flower placed here and there…. a bird, drawn in a “V” flies over just so…. the windows with curtains precisely drawn showing nothing of the rooms within…

And me… floating through all of this… floating above all of this… trail my fingers over all of it… sense it, see it, perceive it through textile and glue… through paper milled fine and milled rough…. they way it ought to be….

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