Matthew called and my heart stopped
Elizabeth Coop
error in judgement (acrylic on canvas)
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue. Fields of fire that passed the train
The sky is victorious but here comes the rain
Friday is taking me home again,
And I've nothing but you on my mind.
Grass is greener without the pain,
I think that I'm changing but I'm just the same
My sun is ascending again
And I've nothing but you on my mind
Sometimes I feel like I'm glad to be free,
Sometimes I still want your arms around me,
Sometimes I'm glad to have left you behind,
The Crazy English Summer has put you back on my mind.
Life's a riot, a lover, a friend,
Pity the day that it has to end
Friday come speed me home again,
I've nothing but you on my mind.
Sometimes I feel like i'm fine on my own,
Fifty thousand miles from home.
Sometimes I'm weak and the past is my guide,
Summer returns and puts you back on my mind.
Like a veil falling, that's how authors putting recieve it to thier page, like a veil falling or with new eyes. They may have it right, but I think in filters. Lenses modified in colour and tone, shifting collateral polarity. I dig my toes into the sand and look out over the ocean, wanting there to be a heavy strong wind like I haven't been in for years. That's today, inside my head. White sand and pointing up at the stars in bright daylight. Constellations painted on the back of our eyes with brushes made of my lips shaping the word see.
This is ambiguous, this interaction that wanders though my hands and has holes punched in it. I woke up this morning feeling unbalanced, my arms outflung and exactly what was making me lightheaded. My house, that house, there's a structure building, a shotgun wedding friendship. There, a moment, it weighs on the tip of my tongue like words I don't know I believe enough to say. "I want you to come with me." exactly not what I'm thinking. My reason fleeing me but on enough of a tether that I can help myself, can stand without a cane, can trap my linguistic trip and keep it within my head before it falls out of my mouth and onto your belly.
How much of this am I talking myself into? How much of it the proximity of someone intelligent who knows what I'm thinking? I'm tired, worn. Layers of conversation - I'm drowning. The only one again, I think you're the only other one who sees that, friends bisecting my tongue with simple observations, I think of how I can't remember to cry. When I read my books, it's other peoples voices that narrate. Songs, I play those on repeat. Lyrics sinking into my head, shaping the course of my fingers on the keys. Mood and empathy. Trying to remember what passion feels like. It's sad, reminding me that I have no set reasons for walking through every day. My friends are my salvation, I'm hardly alone these days. It keeps me from noticing what's inside my head, what courses through my veins.