old world yesterdays come up!
long quiet of ear in the slums of bedridden molasses
you might now stand those wobblelegs yet
but for a wisp of a will! come up!
a couple of injured deer are more formidable than one;
the feeling has returned (How long have you known?)
but my elbow still hurts, a scrape nearly healed
i know this name is heavy (she's so heavy);
in a modern gothic technological monastic grove---
beakers and wires strewn about the tent
the door flapping in the cool morning breeze
alchemical scents among pine and moss
the breeze comes in blows my mind away
who's to tell us how to live
when finally there is only violence?
please come stay with me in the forest
so at least i have one person
with whom i have no secrets
[i should know better]
i ke(e)p(t) thinking that this rain could last forever
and i don't think it could ever stop
i've nothing more to say; silence on the rainmeter
a vector which has spiralled polar unto epsilon
the path through those backyard woods
littered with gutted computers
and old garage sale items not yet fondly remembered
like snippets of conversation heard along the teeming sidewalks
of the tired old city propped up by crosswalks
pulled by yellow cabs, packed in tight to the pockets
of everyone going somewhere else
everyone but the beggars
For so long now it's been on every screen
floating in the air, particulate
soaking into every fabric (just the slightest dampness)
but it doesn't beam from any star
it doesn't stick under the (l)eaves
(the night air filters it out)
how do you tell someone
what can only be beaten into you?
if only you saw how the river really moves, you wouldn't feel so guilty