the inanimate guide to what else

it was barely time for me to sleep when the sun hit me dead between the eyes i driften weightless fell backwards and meant everything the way i said i did standing in line poor old soul "paper or plastic? paper or plastic? paper or plastic? paper or plastic? paper or plastic?" truned it over across his tongue a thousand times a day accumulating bitterness to shatter the ngiht with and reinvent love itself for the eyes he most wanted to look into (we all have eyes we love to look into most) and go back to where we want most no more bag sizes bag orders packing groceries in and rest where the sun never rises and the sun never sets lip locked in astro turf fly baby, spring dog conciousness thinking in abstract cast iron porcelain tub thoughts and reminding ourselves what we want. we know now whether it suits our devils or not that al the dances have been danced with the ones we used to dance with. and all the sunsets have faded to black reminding us of tainted experiences and idiot children seventh grade they all laughed and it was soft delight until erotic voices and incense passion and the all the else there is and then my last and only real addiction: to words themselves where am i going with this? am i just one fo those madcap half crazy cab drivers ranting gibberish at you with you for you to take along and laugh with your friends about it doesn't always go tyhe way you want i'm telling you i'm trying to say when you stumble bbackwards you can always feel like the truth has been told even if it's not the truth you want.

so at the end of her and i her and i her and i, i sat on the porch. and maybe walked away a little maybe told a few more stories to myself commited them to memory to life elssons chalk it up to learning they say, i did it was all for the best all for the most the party with the best guestlist the host with the most the favorite dip and good champainge.

i once invented a god that stole my ciggarettes stole my heart goddess of my mind i built her up and let her down she was al soft features and pale gestures i remeber the way it was all meant to be the way i thought it should play out in my head, can you relate to a thing like this?

so i keep searching, everywhere i go, for some sense of extraordinary existencein a life among the ruins of brainwave brith control tiny trust fund symphony conductor and blind glass eysd preists telling stories to the orphans of my life (all the best emeoruies are orphans).

so were drifting at sea, our chocalate drug addictions our new dream madness addicted to nine to five to kids and house picket fence grandchildren one day a good job take a cruise every couple years it all makes sense when you really think about it.

we want words. to hear. that speak without flesh. a voice without visage. lies without a truth to be told. cafeteria food stamps and grocery store gareter belts for outr vegas weddings our parents disprove we have to show them it's up to us they always say. but, really. it is ever? up...to...you?

then i lived through a thousand dawns with her chill in the air knowing she was alive and that was good enough to lie about tell the truth about know i could last one more time when the world smelled like her beggin for a chance to fall apart at the seems begging for just one more chance to fall in love. is it ever worth it ever going to add up to the spring of my greatest love cool air going through the pipes outlasting each ever tear we've ever cried.

i love the way our numbers go.

2002-11-11 | 2:34 p.m.
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