tha ballad of an unfolded lawn chair

sometimes the inside of my eyelids show me wonders that hide only in the darkest parts of human relief and salvation.
and you are
those imaginings.
outside, there are people moving and creeping
i can hear small whispers
that somehow break through the walls
and come directly
to me

2.
this way outwards, you'll find
the sounds that have broken
in and taken
the night by storm
people talking barely audibly about
the madness of this love
affair or that and
how this one leaned in for
a kiss that no one wanted to give
and maybe
that song is about us-
but only in the way that
every story is ours
and belongs to us while
sitting in lawn chairs in the park
that we carried on
our backs
two blocks down busy streets
and then spread out
to lean back in
(unfolding the dark within them)
and smiling at everyone everywhere.

3.
a story i have kept for me only
but comes out anyway
like most things (good and bad) do
with no real desire or lurch
towards them
but all the same it happens
like that one day
unfolding lawchairs and resting
watching the grass grow
and you kept talking about
your favorite writers
and i just smiled knowing
they were mostly mine too.

then quietness brought us back
into the sea of calmings
and everything
(like the smiles of the restless strangers outside)
went by like cars buzzing by on highways
heading into the night
towards anywhere in particular
but no brake lights in sight.

4.
no one anywhere is slowing down.


2004-12-05 | 7:04 p.m.
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