a little bit dry and fading

so here, the desk,
with tea the color of blood
i sip and watch pass
the motions of sound
leaving traces in the air
like so many
cataloged mysteries
and somehow
that makes more sense
that any other way
than any other approach
to things might be.

so i laugh a little loud
and a grin a little wide
bouncing heads to
basslines that surely
were born before the stars
(otherwise, why listen?)

and i dry my hands
and watch the sun come down
harder than normal this time
of year, the cold is not
so tiring as those old
texas winds that drive
you out of the night.

and here, the desk,
a keyboard full of possibilities
and tea the color of blood
i can feel some subtle changes
in the way of things
some strange undoing
of the old patterns,
old approaches left
dried and turned to dust;
forgotten, magical.

2008-02-27 | 3:51 p.m.
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