sockets, tubes, holes, molding, fear and danger gripped the withered, bruised arm. bony hand held fast with thin fingers that had once been fleshy, full, ready for grabbing or lifting or holding a cocktail. gray lids lay over glassy eyes that focused on morphine hallucinations. "On a lake, a cabin stands and outside is my brother. I don't know why he is there. Very odd." A Phantom Fairy Angel Spirit Floats between thin sheets, peeling skin, air filled with disinfectant and yellow dust particles that circle around the late afternoon sunshine that squeezes between two pieces of plastic in the closed window blinds. The Spirit wonders as only a spirit can do. It is wonder without concern, emotion or judgment. It is wonder at the human condition that is so unable to accept, see or believe in its own wonderment. It is wonder at why there would ever be pain and suffering involved in the simple passage of time and change. It is wonder at the ignorance that there is no time or body, just a simple beam of light that unites, plays with, enjoys and entertains itself by taking on different forms that all are created from the same source. So long. Maybe. Who knows?