The architecture of happiness.
Such a beautiful decree.
Says once you find the missing piece.
Grab hold tight.
Never let go….
The architecture of life.
Alternately.
Says the spark will burn.
Sometimes, more brightly.
What do we know?
What do we desire?
Restless as the albatross.
Circling the seven seas.
Adoring, this world.
For its love.
And its hate.
The architecture of now.
A fabric, sewn of this.
Below.
“She was made after the time of ribs and mud. By papal decree there was to be no more people born of the ground or from the marrow of bones. She was first to be created: cardboard legs, cellophane appendix, and paper breasts. Created not from the ribs of man but from paper scraps.”
And sometime, later…
“She stepped over her creator, spreading his blood across the polished floor, and then walked out of the factory and into the storm. The print of her arms smeared; her soaked feet tattered as they scrapped against wet pavement and turned her toes to pulp.” People of Paper, Salvador Plascencia
“It’s about the beauty of it all.”
Whispers someone close.
Someone loved.
Yes, expression.
Ability to imagine.
So many, many possibilities...
# transmission ends #
