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needles needling needlessly with little thread... or much of anything else...

(foolish dribbles to be written at uncertain times, on an irregular basis, from uncertain sections of the ever expending universe, and from whatever dimension I-We-Us-Them might find ourselves/ myself in …)

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

JASMINE DREAM 


The dogs have torn a plant of mine. Jasmine. I’d wanted to let it grow, let it attach itself to the fence by the front door, growing like a vine. And come that time when they would have flowered, I’d hoped, the fragrance would have come in the house like tiny white petals smelling of fancy soap carried in on the wings of butterflies. This is what I wanted rather than what I’m getting now, the distinct smell of dog shit which comes unsuspected through the very wood of the walls of the house. A gust of wind sweeps down into the grass and whips it straight at me catching me unaware each time. Horse manure is way better.
Posted by: François Pointeau / 07:19
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