The total blanket our parents left us waits crouched with the linen, an everyday object that we are content to imagine. We air it out now and again, hang it on the line for the neighbors to see and marvel at. Then we remothball it, return it to its shadow world, sigh and say we hope we never have to use it. Klaatu barada nikto.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Gort
The total blanket our parents left us waits crouched with the linen, an everyday object that we are content to imagine. We air it out now and again, hang it on the line for the neighbors to see and marvel at. Then we remothball it, return it to its shadow world, sigh and say we hope we never have to use it. Klaatu barada nikto.
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