soft-serve or the unchained bridge

7 Jun

We think of our fears in terms of windows: things that can be broken…visible…easily penetrated. Then we think of our lives as sidewalks, non-malleable but molded with soft serve pavement –each slab on each street different than that which is all the way across town. Accordingly, we think of existence like aisles and bridges: straight path and narrowness, until suddenly we meet a channel where we might find ourselves with company at a soda-cooler island or at the oasis that the bridge seeks when making long vehicular hauls toward a single destination. The windowless sidewalks turn existence into perpetual aisles of unchained bridges.

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