Friday, April 09, 2004

A grey night.

Nips of paper tap at toes
as I drag a pile of moldy pots and pans from room to room,
walking into rituals
of cuts and hang nails
from the dining room
to the kitchen
to the laundry
and back to the fast food wrapper littered
bedroom.
Around and up and down
around
I'm looking at faces marked by smirks and yawns,
asking me, "Wh wh
wh
call me no you don't
no you
you
behind a dull computer screen
you're n
ot
sweet anymore.

They keep on... they move in chance rhythms
speak mismatched syllables
smirk
curl lips
avert eyes in coffee booths
where I built three hundred houses
out of spoons

and on and on

and it's a grey night outside,
a world made of fog blinded by
headlights so bright
they can't see
the red lipstick painted beehives
in the road.

Walk in sandy black fields and listen to
the decayed drone of swarms
around white spots of cats and cattle
left in plops on the ground.

And imagine faces

smirk
and furrow
out of the random whisps of vapor.

Horses' bodies lay down by the river
and stay there for years.

Love will save you from the truth when you think you're free and
Love will save you from the cold and boring reality and
Love will save you from the corruption of your lazy mind and soul and
Love will save you from your selfish and distorted goals
...but it won't save me.

-Swans


I lied. Projects and dreams die when the screen flickers and you forget why you were watching.

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