(no subject)
when the nights are hot and sticky i can't sleep, the heat like a train rumbling past my window, hot steam rushing through like freight and heavy on my already smoke-st(r)ained chest. i've been doing too much bad-for-you very un-zen states of being for my mind to handle. now it seems like my muscles are papered, wrinkled, stiff from unuse. or misuse. and yet. on these nights where night presses like lovers' bedsheets up against buildings, sweaty, the stars dulled with city smog, only the harvest moon, like a farmer's weathered straw hat, leaves its imprint on the grey earth. on these nights I want to take the midnight bus to honest eds and stand there watching life move. that area is untouched & i want to know it better. mel's diner, its french toast spongey and thick under the haze of sleepy intoxicatoin, cold air cranked to make the late-night customers blink, shiver, blink. bright colours offending the eyes from their half-opened bloodshot peace, the way only the colours of a chuck e cheese or child's cartoon could. conversation roars, the rooms spins, its a real trip. waves of calm wash over me, i'm ready for another adventure.
i've lost my horizon (i'm waiting for yours)
i've lost my horizon (i'm waiting for yours)