ladder

leaving for more than planes shot down san francisco in the dark like running from agil (what knows why) inside grows like lovers' arms (when things happen at once) early morning calls more than a little randy says she she who says i almost called slow as days one work hour a phone is for now and then for some now and them just getting settled needs new sky's arms and fists unclenched good butterflys in the gut and house shopping

just another day half in-half out of the fog- catches a train to oakland and sighs weightless sigh- good as getting what you want good as being what you want where you want when you want (not just smiles) and suddenly -as happens with whos and wheres- a smile opens in the gap between lips and some days some things just make it easier

and that's what we need sometimes

not just fairy colors or sick and wasting away fathers on the bed of thier first emotions one way or the other (less than constant disregaurd) and here lies the story of human lives worth living: made of cold stone and hot air, the playa, pretend camping, sunsets and runs by the river, bump intos with drew barrymore and some other saints of modern convenience (one more burining day) - make this day count before it dries up like so many old turkish dreams you had and kept...
beijing and not just ready dank little apartments and trips to tokyo for the anotomy of a stranger the touch of a hand that's not your own one quick flight away but back is faster and harder sometimes back is more trying and less fun (eager eyes worn) and maybe smiles aren't tied to geography

(then again, maybe they are)

easy in the line vermont is nowhere but here nowhere but there and where you are is only air around you and sky with the same sun the same breeze that blows through you blows through so many of us (itching feet and worn through shoes)

just another day half in/half out of the fog and counting down this one night to that (a city in the sun burns you down) and light is not just jazz light is not just jazz

or alchemy of the spirit tossed out you are collections of dead and gone nows and maybe just one for now maybe just one for now (a request granted)

so this is how it's like (everyday is the worst your life will ever be- you've hit the low point: if the stars line up right) so you shot through san fracisco in the dark kept keepsakes of the past locked down inside and waiting one more year and then happiness



2005-05-23 | 12:19 p.m.
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