street-side songs

i am big below your lungs, this crunched-up earth, a swallowed tear (motion sickness) and turning around turning out slow thoughts busted free, this one-armed world, i wrote farther songs buried in mud and pulled them free like fingers from the inner depths of women and dried that swallowed tear (hung out on street-sides, staring at street signs) shouting film-like such a slogan life and laying after falls into warm grass a slight dew across it 6am and dying to know where you are where this all is going what world what world what world carves this story out of mold-mountains and guts rain-forrests of the heart in mad-eyed moments so i wind my fingers through my hair and wonder slightly mad if dust jackets wear with sunlight and i am waiting waiting waiting this time love has the name of dark songs and you're every word is losing balance (but i hear tremors in your voice) and one day soon falling down will be our favorite pass-time

and one more listening morning (the only walk to take) and pavement beneath my feet arches in the soles of my shoes with my flat feet view of things, standing on the side of the road watching the world move by in rapid-motion like frenzied kisses in cars at drive-ins and so much of my life has been that way

i have, from here, a window view of human anguish and laughter a side-seat on the motorcycle of some dark and transparent lives (mine as well as others) but it's the tenderness i'm most interested in just now (most entangled in like once with kelly's legs around me and once with kim smiling from across the room, unwound) i am a set order of thoughts a set of actions and reactions a series of motions, wrist movements and twists of fate (if any there is) and me, like tragedy falling sideways through rain (in mind-sight, you're 20/20) and one more wasted stare is put out there while i watch the world pass at 6am on the side of l. don dodson road and smoke one more cigarette one more hunted stare one more glare from passing policemen one more one more one more and on to better things

in all of this, is noted, a slowing of time a circling of moments around each other and in between in between is where we live don't try don't fall we just move along and make it through under road signs and on entrance ramps to highway systems designed with the growing of populations in mind (sometimes)

and so a nod in my solar plexus, a sigh and weeping that only happens behind the eyelids behind the eyes behind...

2004-07-03 | 3:11 p.m.
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