dreams are useful in compacting days,
or helping my eyes to hide behind curtains
of haziness or fog
the kind that collects in airy containers outside my windowsill
i know quietude wraps itself
like a shawl, or something made of gauze
it's dangerous to know myself
kind of like
cooking with knives that are bigger than my hands
i have a plan
this micro plan
to live
to laugh
is it cliche?
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