not everyone can be november, you know

not everyone can be november, you know.
not with all it's falling arms and laughs between gritted teeth: family friends falling apart everytime they come together like some strange post card from across the sea that came back to me in a dream the way that so few things do the way that so few things do.

so i'm here in early august morning (almost) a waiter for cacophony, a waiter on cacophony the end of the earth as my memory holds it everything just changes changes on and on until what it was and what sense it made has risen and rained so many times that no one with half an eye can recognize it anymore.

i am a ghost writer for my own dreams.

it's easier to think of it in quick letters, emails, override hardline thoughts that no one anywhere is cold enough to share and that's how that's how we get by so often as we do without falling into fear, without....

it's the easy ones that are so hard to get across.

i remember it like a dream like a storm i'm trying to put it back together pull it back home because at least here (in me) is everything there used to be: a fertile ground where such things can grow and run wild like stallions over montana hills and it can be you can be she can be we can be anything we want to be for a little while more and then forever...

i'm mostly only a series of things thought about and experienced.

i am the gibberish of these stories.

not everyone can be november, you know. not the way you mean it, not the way i meant it and here, like always we're trading eyes and spending time watching life go by like a boat we built and now we're in it: here and there and fading (more than anything else)

good luck to you, little storm drain storytellers drying out your eyes long enough to sing a song (long enough to "bend your white lights to blue") and then forget the whole thing.

do you remember anyway?

instead, i'm here, watching the old dreams disapear and new ones chase up the rail and come head on come head on into me and waking means hearing more than a few of them and just having to sigh
(sometimes that's all you can do)

the way that no one can be november anymore.

it's the last hold that held. the last hold that held. the last hold that held. the last hold that held. the last hold that held. the last whole, that hell.

i am changing lights and all of us know it.

2005-07-31 | 1:22 p.m.
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