Do you clam up your feelings; your thoughts like the rope used to harness a tent down as if it were capable of flying off. A flying tent of emotions, juxtaposed so as to convey a myriad of ideas ready to transpose into words. The canvass flapping in the wind like astronaut cheeks when catapulted into outer space. An army green or a circus rainbow style would do. Just so much as it is tilting slightly as if it knew its purpose and was determined on getting there. Other tents would be about but not flying rather floating in orbit like stiff magic carpets with total precision of gravity as if they had never left earth. Tables set with candles and linen, chairs occupied with people dressed for an exquisite occasion, perhaps the viewing of the flying tent with purpose. A bowl of grapes, cabernet pouring in voluptuous glasses; and ladies peering out of the curtain door bestowed with sheer layering as if flies would ever get up there.
Do you resist and insist on not listening to yourself. When you do listen, are you being heard?
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