oh, and sky laugh

summer sprayed off, and everyone here knows just what they want sometimes. fall comes clean we watch weather melt and soon the leaves are falling, lives wither away find (we do) easy ways to think about the ones we used to love and (hey, so many) but just here, liking it only halfway. and now, just like winter always is, the sun's a bit more, but that's about it, and where are you (girl i loved in third grade) and (boy i knew when i was too) and how come this always happens?

but god man, where dot hey keep the solace around here? sitting (in winter) but warm and pressing fingers to keys telling not too mcuh of a story but trying to get beneatht eh skin of whatever it is i need to say and see what's coming see what's coming see what's falling out and (hey, we always do) and now, the day before and rain fell, mist then hard and streets sang me to sleep: the sudden sinking feeling how sometimes life is swimming upstream on little concrete rain rivers and i'm watching them cross the lot sometimes and thinking of you (whoever you are, wherever you are) and what have you got now, fucked-off-in-the-street lady and good-god-girl-of-the-green-eyes and you all always emant a little something sometimes and it's easier than others.

so i'll spend a few more blinks on you, watch winter walk away and i know it will (it did last year) you can't give me anything new this year, old-folks-home of a life and i'm tired of world-winds, want a little quiet (it always is) and here, shudder to think is always playing, and fingers are always tapping and ideas are flowing forth (some better than others) but really, why count it up?

so it's like a day spent in parks and walking, slow and fading thoughts, we all get so clear every so often, you know? everyone gets a good one or two.

it might be midnight, later, i'm here, thinking about this little spanish girl i knew who could sing hope sandoval sweeter than anything and kissed like timeloss. i remember the way her fingers felt in mine, the way her eyes seemed always to be pulling me in, and how, oh, the good things in end and most of the time, we don't know why...but she was just then, i only just touched her skin (and she mine) that one night and somehow, tragic as brutas, that was enough. not that i loved her less, but that i...and so forth.

so we sat, from early int he ngiht to late, sunken in the sofa i remember liking the way her shoelaces hung when she put one leg over the other, and sometimes, she got this sweet little look on her face when just the right part of a song would come on, i fell a bit in love that night and sure enough, it was sooner something than nothing. so we languished hours away and spent them lying next to each other, quiet, listening to old dischord bands and every so often her hand would reach for some part of me: my chest or legs, and sly smile arose i could smell her smile it seems to me (from here and now, at least) and once or twice, mine found her, a pair of fingers on her stomach, the sex was slow and wonderful, but better was the moments after before beyond. it seemed even then that the sex itsself was just to get it out of the way so we could lay together wihout thinking about it.

buy, hey man, that's how it goes. some nights shine in memory and radiate until you're blind and good enough, it is all worth it.

my god, how laying with her was like dropping dead in so many ways: how i imagine it with dying elderly women, brave and complete, having said their goodbyes, movement is only a formality and maybe none of this makes any sense to you at all, btu there it is, and in me, it's happening sometimes, in just the rain or just the wind and i can hear it or feel it and remember just the way it was to lay there, thinking about nothing at all, just smiling long inner-smiles and well enough, that's all you need.

i mean, that's what this big whorly-gig is about, right?

2004-01-18 | 1:16 a.m.
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