Classicalized woven from the threads of my dreams, or dissonance echoing from their fading depths–

Blue-tinted city, a veil over streets, the juxtaposition of golden lights against a hazy azure backdrop;

Every doorway and window a beacon, a glimpse into illuminated warmth.

Streaming down the steps, slogging through mud and marching up hills, climbing–

The stairs to heaven are paved with asphalt.

Scratchy synth-pop and rainy laughter constrained by air pressure, blips of sound on the dial.

No echoes, but definite audibility.

Darkened. Glimpses of worlds, of songs and thoughts and stories

(Fairy tales, noir novels, pulp fiction, tragedies reimagined as comedies)

Fleeing past, eyes cast down, gazes tucked away, hiding beneath the cloud-cover of post-dawn haze.

Symphonies of gestures, millions of unheard conversations belying sound: bumps, glares, brushes;

I’ll stop to let you pass because I respect you, go through this door quicker or we’ll all be late–

Psychic cacophonies translating into mute motions.

Cautious dazed speechlessness

And dew-soaked air.