There is little to be said about the beginning of the summer or the opening of the mouth. With little victories and failures, quiet kisses saying I am sorry for me. Molecules, begging for some forgiveness, and all the blood in the veins, reaching out for some kind of contact, something. The way clothes fit against the body, the way memory sticks out. Like a belief in something worth forgetting, this skin, soft oil and skimpy scent of peach, this body swallowed whole, in no time at all. Maybe all this lightening in our palms, with you so close now. The softness of open-eyed dreams, running against the thunderstorms of our lives. Every so often, I’d like to have my own funeral, just to see who would show up.
It’s so nice to wake up in the morning, all alone and not have to tell somebody you love them, when you don’t anymore.
I do my thing, and you do your thing. I am not in this world to live up to your expectations and you are not in this world to live up to mine. You are you, and I am I, and if by chance we find each other, it’s beautiful. – Frederick S. Pertz
Just because you feel it, doesn’t mean it’s there – Radiohead.
I am poppies in the field, red and cold. I am sleeping alone, and I am light. I am light. I am light.
Our life is one catastrophe after another. Disaster dogs us. I’m the luckiest man alive, and you know what that means. Earthquakes, landslides, falling trees. Wind and rain and rising waters. What the hell, we survive. The coyotes are screaming on the other side of the field; it’s a strange music. The stars are out. It’s lovely here, and like the world, I marry you every day.
There ought to be a place to go when you can’t sleep, or you’re tired of getting drunk, and the grass doesn’t work anymore and I don’t mean to go on to hash or cocaine, I mean a place to go besides a death that’s waiting and a love that doesn’t work anymore.
Some days you wake up and immediately start to worry. Nothing in particular is wrong, it’s just the suspicion that forces are aligning quietly and there will be trouble.
Lying to ourselves is more deeply ingrained than lying to others.
Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints in the snow, I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning’s hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry – I am not there; I did not die.
And in case you were wondering, you are like a hurricane to me, your violence is beautiful and your centre sweet. And in case you were wondering, you are everything to me.
Nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart.
Heaven knows where I’ll be in six months, maybe you’ll know the solution to life, maybe I’ll be published, maybe you’ll be so happy, maybe I’ll be insane and gripping cigarette butts, maybe you’ll hate silences and pennies, maybe I’ll be living alone.
Started out lonely and hungry, fat, made some moves early, many wires, awkward years, this is not an apology, light came through when least expected, things meant so much more before the drugs kicked in, saw everything that flew in the sky, one day I’ll be there too, unknowingly I lied, got on stage, and there were so many lights, close my eyes, try to remember the feeling of it all. Took that bus straight through heaven and hell, old now, but wrinkles just forming, I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve beat this game.
Move on. It’s just a chapter in the past. But don’t close the book; just turn the page
No comments:
Post a Comment