take the T rail downtown

nothing so colorless as:
there and i watch a man put his hands on you so casual as if a hundred thousand times before, but you smack his hand away (maybe for me) make harsh commentary his direction, and turn to me with a little shaking of the head as if to say "i don't know what's the matter with him, he's never like this and he knows there's nothing between us" and all odds are, there isn't, but somewhere, atop rugs and beneath mantel placements there are drinks to be had, cigarettes to be smoked, conversations to be nurtured and i want to be there for them, i want to languish in them, crawl through and around them, slithering fingers between yours and adjusting to periods of silence that are so nice here next to you (or where you are now) and even just reading (hamsun) next to you can be as lovely as things go when the pearly gates are parted, when doors rest open because that's the way we want them that's the way they are when we are here, full of upturned rainbow facial tensions, more than the first or last stop of any train anywhere (like your breasts) and then soon enough we'll be the tracks themselves, lurching forward turning new feilds, gorges, valleys into settled regions, balking at stern corners or things that most people don't get past.

and so, watches it come it will it will it's coming now...

2004-03-13 | 10:55 a.m.
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