from dreams come days of

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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