come, let us make plans for life and then watch them wither.
there's a man that rides on a set of aluminum spokes beside me. and if i found it easy to speak to anyone right now. it's not the ones i trust. it would be easier with him. but he has his doubts. as to whether there is room for the frame of his bicycle. it won't do to leave it behind. or if his ears will grow tired of stories. all of them with names he doesn't know. so i let him alone. it's sad really that i haven't spoken of this to You. for who is more a stranger than the one that made me and still i hold no faith in? it's a fault i have. to believe that every desire is a need. when really it's just a spool of thread that i think is holding me together. with the words 'want' written across the top in the smallest of letters. for every girl i slept beside there is a cut in the mouth of my wife that gives her pain with every sad swallow because i don't think she knows that i have done nothing to deserve her. and Christ i cannot take these plans for life any longer! 'then come with Me son and we'll watch them wither!' and i've got a closet far from being bare full of stilts for every stupid self-made occasion. one for when iam lonely and only looking for the most attractive thing possible so i can claim it before anyone else does. one so i can remember what it was like to climb trees as a little boy pretending to be brave. and i found everything interesting! and now all iam is a coward who is at times simply too polite to run away. one for picking fruit that isn't quite ripe. another for parading around with shirt tails flapping about and stretched over a swollen stomach. like an ostrich that's so worried about whether or not it is to be fed that it consumes everything within it's sight. so if you could forgive my modern day estate that this is all about me. and whether or not her bursting 'bluest eyes i've ever seen' are still watching. because i forget that taking pleasure in words is like eating the wrapper on the candy. it's the ideas beneath them that matter. and i've got a house i keep for comfort but it's filled with every kind of doubt. and when i leave the door open it creeps out across the front porch and into the lawn. Christ seperate each blade of grass from it's bed so i can see it's just a blade of grass! and not something more serious. because it's not about me Father. and every glass, cup and tin pail i leave out and hope to God it doesn't break. if You could just fill them all with Yourself. well that would be just great.