objects in a room-item 1

i have a sympathetic cursor.  sweet little thing.  holds it's tiny blinking breath when i do.  exhales brightly once i enter with a word.  an optimist, the cursor simply soldiers on with my sometimes prosaic prose.  "the dog did not wash", i type.  and it blinks in delight, "what then?  what then?" as if i had something very profound to follow with.

there is an angel on my window sill.  (cursor: "yes! yes! and what of that angel?").  and she is covered in light dust (or perhaps a dust of light) and she stands above my head.  the day has bloomed and progress is underway.  i hear cars tearing up and down the road and the clamor of hard living beating against pavement.  there are metal birds in the sky.  i'm still under blankets thick with the scent of french pressed coffee, ink stains on my fingers from when i was born scrawling out illegible lines for the sake of speech and release.  i grab hold of the angel and take her from the sill.  i must open a window, extract myself slowly from the womb of solitude let the air of the outside world brush against my wool sweater and matted hair.  i slide open the window with one hand, the other hand is holding the angel.  i would hate to have knocked her down accidentally.  sometimes angels fall when you open yourself to the world.  the breeze is gentle, the touch light.  bits of sound squeeze through the mesh frame, just enough to keep me connected, just enough so i'm still free.  i put the angel back on the window sill.  she holds a bright feather and smiles down at me, her wings fluttering in the new air.

what will become of...?

yes, that is the question.  and what about...?  precisely.  each action is so complicated isn't it?  the implications of everyday life.  would you speak plainly.  sometimes i fear i most certainly cannot.