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ArtistBaroque Grotesque, Alienation, closed doors, weightlessness, fragrant rose in a small coffee cup, a drop of ink dripping onto a farewell letter,Machines grow flowers from their exhaust pipes, petals of steel and silk waving at passing clouds.
Inspired by https://deepdreamgenerator.com/ddream/0g2g256tedi
The machine ran on roses and the things she had nearly said.
Every morning she put a flower in her cup and waited for gravity to finish its breakfast.
One Thursday it never came.
A woman floated past the window, trailing a dress that remembered the floor. The ink rose from the page in small black drops. Even the old boilers seemed relieved.
She held a rose against her chest.
There was somebody she had been meaning to forget, but without weight she couldn’t tell whether he was leaving or coming closer.
Outside, the sky had room for everything.
She wished it were a little smaller.
