i am wearing a torn leather boot on one foot
and it has a four inch dagger in it, strapped
to the side of my ankle and i carry it because
i've heard stories of what lives somewhere up
ahead and it's recommended i go there prepared.

i am coming up on a place with lots of lights
and smoke from the top, like a million
lightning bugs are having a party, puffing
cigars and drinking fine wine, laughing it up,
telling stories about flying zig-zagged lines
in the dark between the turned backs of
estranged lovers, playing connect-the-dots with
fate's dips and dabs, and how we're all too
concerned with reasons and timing and waiting
and watching to see them showing us the way.

it's funny, i guess, and i'm walking past their
little buzz whispers, sarcastic and hopeless whispers
about how clear they make the things that
we pretend that we can't see, and i steady
my hand and think that this is probably all just
a matter of conditioning and not so much
inability, but then when two little things have the
very same ends, we'll just say the means dont
mean anything.

i've got nothing but air in my mouth, holding
my breath. my tongue and the mist in the air
intertwine and tell each other little love stories
about the wind on the beach and the taste of
the lips on some mirage of a girl on an oasis
back south, and with an exhale the story is
over, and the mist left to wander the skies forever,
wondering how it all might have ended.

what did her lips taste like and what is she waiting for tonight?
does she stare at the sky and think about life or
just walk the path with a blindfold and a grin?
is it all a desperate treasure hunt, and if so, what's the treasure?
where is he today, and what has he learned, and
will we ever meet again?

off into oblivion dancing, trading stories with
the rest of the mist and the bumblebees, and
i keep walking with my dagger in my boot.

lots of things happen on this little adventure
of ours and there are lots of mysteries ahead.
don't ask me if i'm headed in the right direction
and don't ask me to tell you what i know. i've got
nothing to go by those but lightning bug whispers
in the wind.

i've got stories to tell about the grip of fate's hand,
and blind eyes, the other cheek. i've got a map
that has no straight line but lots of directions
x'd out and i've got a dagger stashed safely away,
only because i know that as flat and deserted as
the road may appear tonight, there's always that
jungle somewhere on the horizon.

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