i alphabetize my collections.
from one point--
to there
over there
overrrrrrrrrrrrrr here?
business card tells me to run. god-DAMN.
it's like this one dream where you arrive and must rub the sands from your eyes and you stare at this wall that is worn down by random child-like scrawls with fortunes and there is something that might just be dried blood from the mouths of those who have tried to chew their way out of this same dream for many centuries before and the clock no gives no minutes only screams sporadically as if you've gotten on his last nerve and the hallways echo w/Jefferson Airplane and there are copies of books in every language except the one you speak and you marvel that in your memory you know exactly what they say and in these foreign texts there is still a Tom Sawyer and still a Huck Finn and they still make magic between your ears and for old times sake you run a finger under the words like you did so long ago and they leap from the page and begin to dance as if they had been trapped between those pages waiting for you to touch them. to touch them. to make them goddamn feel something and it turns your heart yellow and it might be heroin and it might be love.
regardless--this is a bankable opportunity if only you knew how to bring it back to the world.
even if you could? would you? it's only defiled when it hits the eyes of everyone around.
shit, then...i suppose it best to keep all your secrets inside and unleash them when you're drawling your final breaths and maybe they will stick to the walls of the apartment or bathroom and
drip
drip
drip
drip
to the floor to be swept up and never understood.
that's the way it happens when you're scared.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
5 more sleeps left.
and she's here.
and it makes me smile.
from one point--
to there
over there
overrrrrrrrrrrrrr here?
business card tells me to run. god-DAMN.
it's like this one dream where you arrive and must rub the sands from your eyes and you stare at this wall that is worn down by random child-like scrawls with fortunes and there is something that might just be dried blood from the mouths of those who have tried to chew their way out of this same dream for many centuries before and the clock no gives no minutes only screams sporadically as if you've gotten on his last nerve and the hallways echo w/Jefferson Airplane and there are copies of books in every language except the one you speak and you marvel that in your memory you know exactly what they say and in these foreign texts there is still a Tom Sawyer and still a Huck Finn and they still make magic between your ears and for old times sake you run a finger under the words like you did so long ago and they leap from the page and begin to dance as if they had been trapped between those pages waiting for you to touch them. to touch them. to make them goddamn feel something and it turns your heart yellow and it might be heroin and it might be love.
regardless--this is a bankable opportunity if only you knew how to bring it back to the world.
even if you could? would you? it's only defiled when it hits the eyes of everyone around.
shit, then...i suppose it best to keep all your secrets inside and unleash them when you're drawling your final breaths and maybe they will stick to the walls of the apartment or bathroom and
drip
drip
drip
drip
to the floor to be swept up and never understood.
that's the way it happens when you're scared.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
5 more sleeps left.
and she's here.
and it makes me smile.
VIEW 15 of 15 COMMENTS
[Edited on Feb 21, 2006 11:41AM]