(You) [I] Can Not See (You) [Me] as (I) [You] (Can)

it's a stolid plain, colors arching across oursightline, crystal palaces lined up (scraping the sky), and long gray bugs and boxes float down expressways for merchant lines and then, suddenly soon, we're all thinking about the ways of the land and sea, sunburns, aching feet, silent eyes and when the dust, once turned to bones, will turn, once again to dust and shatter. we're wondering about the turning over of tides, and the myth of soulmates and zeus eatting his children. we're here, all at once, wondering about footprints, and how long they last, what was and the revolving world and can it spin back around, turn us to shine (pennies in fountains) across great long lands and shopping malls littered with clandestine children, arched eyebrows of parents pondering the moral value of this toy or that and soon, pokemon'll be int he closets and what then, they ask "what then?"

so i sit here, wondering how long this has been going on and knowing i catch wind of it every now and then, something falls, leaf from a tree, star from the sky, and we end up wondering, awe-stricken and glorious about the colors of a rainbow or how it happens just after rain (and all these things which science tries to encapsulate with terms like light prism, but can never truley demystify) and the stretch of beliefs, across oceans, different from house to house like the world's largest birdhouses we have watering holes to cool down, and no bird was ever so well off as this and we're hoping, even if we don't know it, that ever kin is ours and every clan has our names on it, we are branded as alive, and it is known, even when it seems we're long gone or our ancestors drying up and bones grown over, pastures of lillies they can't even remember sometimes where the graves were dug, but they're here, still carving truths still trying nothing and it's all happening, it's all happening, if we're not careful, we'll be good people soon.

2003-08-08 | 1:52 p.m.
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