county road 10A

Went with Sinatra,
like so many slow nights by the river
walking down broken dirt roads
hearing the laughter of neighbors over the wine-whispers
(two people fooling around on a trampoline)
one lone word for the rest of tonight: please.
So slowly, with headphones, a song made of dust
drips from any child into the abyss
where every good thing lives
(itís easier to write with paintbrushes)
and here is where the simplest things lie, turning: on roadsides
Iíll try the new life
not too different from the old one
left wrappers from candy in ditches
(before I learned about strategic decomposition)
itís happened too many times.
Waking up in long green valleys, a bit hung over
and rolling over beneath the blanket, smelling your skin first thing in the morning
youíre a world away in the land of
pretty dreams
at least, if the careful way your eyelids touch is any indication.
Beautiful as sin.


2004-10-22 | 10:50 a.m.
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