i see saw in a sea chord, hum to a french sigh and half close eyes to a fragment of a ghost memory so much scritched in the back of a small skull, tied back with a pink bow. what is the matter, gray and orange run down legs, run over lips, run down the drain, last year has patterns. this year has paints. next year will have designs for toe stepping and heel digging- or so says the girl in the green chair.. do we sit and spin? classes again paid for and a rewind to the finger painted walls, the wires bent over leaf clippings and found postcards, i don't make it home for sunset any more, i don't make it for the stretch out and the leaf shadow show. i used to imagine celluloid recorded my every think my every muscle tighten golden moment, serious looks peaceful, and wouldn't it be nice to have that aesthetic appreciated... lofty goals for a girl with a broken foot. kiss away the napalm,
step out into the street lamp show crossing, a dog takes to the sidewalk and taps out nail clips on the pedway..close eyes, fell the brush bye bye bye, and inhale, the fantasy dances on the tip of my nose, gentle touches, yearning glances, sensitivity to light...
burrow backwards my dear, it's never over in october, one year. one year. one fear. amazing how i get stuck in the detail and older than expected but younger in my head than the collar round my wrist thinks. who knows what i kicked off when i stepped in it last go. don't regret. don't want to waste a minute more dear. open eyes and i expect dilation, but that doesn't happen when there is a lack of understanding and she slips me a sly look and i wonder what i can think of next.. things snap in the heat, pressure causes sound links to smash audio links and every cut out tells me something of what i know about star collapse an inner space, stickies of doom my cat calls out from the room next to her universe of empty space, dig up love there's something in your ear,
sounds like a porch swing wave me down trip me out, kiss my cheek and turn round about. i told you it went all mono, and i thought nucleus and you thought me crazy how could we think past nine forty five and a few seconds, plastic cups, yellow lights and tea. sugar. cream. cram. would the silence permeate the space between the green tiles and plastic mats..stare at chipped nails triangling the cup this morning stretches out ... diffuse glow... reflection of the imagined fading white fill in and fly away my dear, before too long i'll realize that the timer wasn't set properly and that photograph of my arm is closest to my face, buried in a box someplace across the sea. garden in. duestchland. november fifteenth. dreams tell me to watch the sun rise, hearts tell me to beat with each second and succumb to the lightness of batik woven floormats and the unforgiving kiss of too much bass line. and i can't think for a moment, the seconds seem eternities with each tap tap tap something changes, something cringes, and short me out i can't feel the flow with six minutes and forty eight to go. unbearable. un beable. un seeable. stop. flicker. flutter. rewind. type gently shashhap shashatap.. unexpected.. violins run to violets rush to violence and back down again, bitter seed stuck in my throat. always that photograph of a goat, never understood the unearth, the comeback the great disaster that is my head. probe probe. probe. contact handling, process....it won't let go
dis own ance
good morning tartshine. brew it up and tap it out the days of the week and how much do we want the sundays how much do we want this cast off, how much do i want to pay for the five dollar newspaper, go ow i wan a drive. clutch up. bear down. roll up. and feel the rock spin shoot sand at never high speeds but low lost lives.mymymymymymy i want to kiss fingers that aren't my own. cover them in rain and i want to cup it. cuff it.. a rest in my development who knew?
step one two, step one two. how many times can i twirl my self around the room before realizing that sometimes it is ok to settle... fathom that cat? i imagine my wedding day will be full of dried flowers. browns outlined on a skyline. no one would be there right mindedly so.
kiss my cheeks love, bind me off. seek purchase in my heartflesh. what have i become? i can barely make it through the door for extra appendages. *sigh* *sputter* *sin* old things singing new. older catching young... adoring old..making the toes bend back towards rainbows and ten year old wishes...want to go back..
hear the seashore climbing close. feel the moonshine falling far.. smell train tracks wishing for tomorrow to scrub the rust from rails and wooden planks cry for a reason to stay. high eight runs out of batteries.. lost my art in my back pocket when i took away my camera for the first time in years. shutter click
click
click
black. click.white.click. don't stop the curve backwards holds impressionism to high degree and the sing along factor baffles the cool kids stealing staplers and songs from the eighties without knowing about long love and sunlight.everyone wants a piece of my somethings started in the garden. i just want to sit for a moment, remember what tea was to enjoy. speak in tongues with a neighbor an hear bells ring on the hour of escalation...wonders never cease in my blue eyed green rimmed rough house hope chest. don't correct me if i am wrong
for it is all about the smooth sound
of
black.
piffle in a poptart, songs go like:
carla bruni- la ciel dans une chambre
slowdive- here she comes
snow patrol-warmer climate
mono- yearning
beta band- human being
jenny lewis-melt your heart
johnny cash- hurt
death cab for cutie- lack of colour
massive attack- teardrop
ken nordine- black.
