December 16, 2009
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Tonight is what it’s like to see in orange,
Waking up, the fever dream sticks like the frayed stings of jeans worn too often cling to the seams,
The music has stolen my legs and uses them to dance to itself,
Waking up, the illusion fades, but it has made its mark just the same,
The floor hums as the walls crack and shatter and finally they melt,
Waking up, unsure of reality,
I am seeing music outside of sleep; it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt.

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