By Tenzin McGrupp © 2003
While you sleep, do you know that I try to catch your dreams with large butterfly nets? They are cumbersome the long nets, for sure, but I stand over you anyway, my shadows blanketing over you like a sullen storm circling in from off Lake Erie, and your distant dreams and ornate thoughts slip out of your angelic body like little bubbles being blown from the mouth of a small child standing in the middle of the Central Park zoo, the soapy film running down his hand, as the magnificent spectrum of colors all converge to the tip of one of the largest bubble he blew, floating for seconds around his head before they each "Pop" and disappear into thin air. I try to catch your dream bubbles with my over-sized butterfly nets, but most of the time, my fishing twine is not strong enough to patch up the many jagged holes from the vampire like butterflies indigenous only on the island nation of Madagascar. They each hang sharp fangs, with seven tiny claws which dig into your flesh, and induce sickening chill like waves of throbbing despair throughout your blood system. These fuckers are dangerous for sure, but not as dangerous as some of your dream bubbles, which at first appear silky and smooth to the eye and touch, just like those soap bubbles amusing a crowd of beleaguered Hungarian tourists in Central Park, but at closer inspection, the dream bubbles are not as fragile as I anticipated. The outer edges as strong as titanium, the insides as clear and precise as pearls on the necklace of an Upper East Side debutante.
Tenzin McGrupp is a writer from New York City.