I read the papers
on this day like a thousand passed
on our fat air conditioned pillows
wide awake at midnight
(one gorge falls)
And never more awake than this
and now.
And a dreary falling down
sense of all the doors long-since
forgotten or brushed past
or overgrown with blades of grass.
(locked with the brokenness of dreams, the wind that moves us)
like every other door
we forgot to close on our way back down.
this is here, we are now and forever
with these transparent exhaust sandwiches,
histories logged on and off on web storage systems.
so we sit on tribal aftermath shore and stare.
Thatís where the first bomb of our lives hit
strange and overgrown, it looked like love
with frazzled hair and frenzied stares.
we try to forget.
Instead: we wait and ask the shore
(home of the first bomb sighting)
asking why we never felt the tremors
coming forth.
we never felt the earthquakes.
just spinning spinning around the side and down
into the rock quarry of what we thought meant so damn much.
We never knew what to make of the cracks
coming out from everywhere and spreading
like water on glass-tops
our thoughts (neaderthal) left themselves to sigh.
The quiet comes only after the storm.

2004-10-22 | 11:17 a.m.
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