thanksgiving

[cribdeath]

this isn't bitterness, it's merely a tremor of the earth, and everything becomes history.

i am not speaking because i cannot be allowed to be heard and i am dropping through a famous blueness like a pearl diver. it is october and i am looking for a dear friend and i think the only reason any of us love each other is when it rains sounds and silences drift up past the rooftop & suggest the sounds of adventure & become ultimately local and intimate & repeat the phrases of a romance which is renewed by the endless originality of human loss & the indistinguishable air & the disastrous quiet of breathing & the heavens' stars all out & we are all for the captured time of our being