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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