In my hand a tiny house

January 14, 2013 § Leave a comment

A house with stilts that are my fingers. A plate of dirt and grass is perched and the house on top. It is white with gothic windows, the roof is sloped the typical V. It used to be an old church once. Now it has a chimney. My wrist is bent in in a casual recline, like a signal.

The house is a model. There is no pathway and it is small. In my hands a tiny parcel I know someone dreams about.

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