He dreams of a glass of water
he sits still in his chair gazing out at the window
he sits with his hands in his lap, between his legs
the sides of his soles are up against each other and his head is tilted
he watches birds, leaves, clouds and garbage

he breathes heavily, sitting there
every now and then he feels the impulse to stand up
but he sits there and watches

intense enjoyment
as the birds hop from twig to twig, butt in the air
the tiny little dark beads that stare at him from time to time
stare at his window from time to time
so blissfully organic/mechanic

he wonders if this is the time to stand up
another impulse, a sharp twang of a string, to stand up
but he sits there and watches

he dreams about a glass of water
but he can see himself letting go of his molecules
he sees himself disperse in to millions of dust particles
getting carried by the wind out through the window
getting into those tiny black beads, absorbed

Irrational fear
he grabs hold of his molecules and glues them together
just in case...
twang
But he sits there and watches

the grass is brilliantly green and the sun is shining
the birds open their slits and bare their throats
the sound seems out of place in them, but there you go
a mechanical orchestra of chirps and beeps
they have no conductor but still this sound touches every ones heart
in one way
or another

when the next twang comes, he gets up
he walks to the sink
he picks up the glass
he turns on the faucet
he gathers water into the glass
he turns off the faucet
he takes a sip
he walks back to the chair
he sits down
he takes another sip
he puts the glass on the table
and he watches