Frozen Niagara, Staircases of Piano Strings


She dreamt the brownstones were missing their ceilings, the roofs peeled off completely. Interiors were stairs all across – from wall to ripped open wall, banks of stairs. But they were not stairs at all. They were theater risers. And each brownstone, each ripped-open brownstone, ripped open by elements or ignorance, was open to the sky and torn like teeth with cavities to the roots.

These are old theaters, she thought. These are not homes at all.

But the dream was over, there was nothing more to see. No, nothing at all.

~ by lhdwriter on November 1, 2013.

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