I guess I'm like a cockroach, huh?
I had a dream about you the other day, the kind that lives in the space between half asleep and half awake, and you don't really know even as you blink it back into the abyss if it was fantasy or reality.
We were on some street corner, sharing a light and talking about how the landmarks of our youth were being systematically destroyed by progress. You let me ramble a bit before smacking me upside the head and telling me to stop taking myself so goddamn seriously.
Story of my life.
Come around every once in a while, she said, so I can spit a few lines at you. When it comes to her I always do as I'm told.
And a few for you:
and if there are no
words but breath a
pale and wavering shadow
of the was that we
cradle to our hearts,
those pale and
wavering shadow
graven in the marble
fastness of
20-pound bond
sacrificial-white stained
with the blood of
bic-pens
is the monument of
their black-and-white
slash truth
that we cast long before us
lost in sun-high and our
images of ourselves
are gone.
something papertwist
brittle about your brilliance
fireflash and fade in the
touch of a match held
to a cigarette and
the snap of wrist
the faith you don't know
you keep lies cool and
heavy over your heart
and whispers to you
in dead men's voices
and perhaps we were
not meant to entertain
angels aware
crushed by the
weight of
grace.
the play's the thing and
we play at belief
the question is, is
it better to believe the
world's a pinprick-eclipseviewer
cast through construction-paper
our problems are
just papercuts and
as we're ground away
in careless hands
Jesus saves
the pieces for a glorious
crayon-mosaic stained-glass
heaven in the end
if there's a plan
it's in the place
where you'll go blind
if you try to see.
tried faith in fire
gold loses its shape
in the crucible
your heart goes armored
clad in the remnants
of holy medals
"I don't know
what I believe
any more."
I'll be around.
We were on some street corner, sharing a light and talking about how the landmarks of our youth were being systematically destroyed by progress. You let me ramble a bit before smacking me upside the head and telling me to stop taking myself so goddamn seriously.
Story of my life.
Come around every once in a while, she said, so I can spit a few lines at you. When it comes to her I always do as I'm told.
And a few for you:
and if there are no
words but breath a
pale and wavering shadow
of the was that we
cradle to our hearts,
those pale and
wavering shadow
graven in the marble
fastness of
20-pound bond
sacrificial-white stained
with the blood of
bic-pens
is the monument of
their black-and-white
slash truth
that we cast long before us
lost in sun-high and our
images of ourselves
are gone.
something papertwist
brittle about your brilliance
fireflash and fade in the
touch of a match held
to a cigarette and
the snap of wrist
the faith you don't know
you keep lies cool and
heavy over your heart
and whispers to you
in dead men's voices
and perhaps we were
not meant to entertain
angels aware
crushed by the
weight of
grace.
the play's the thing and
we play at belief
the question is, is
it better to believe the
world's a pinprick-eclipseviewer
cast through construction-paper
our problems are
just papercuts and
as we're ground away
in careless hands
Jesus saves
the pieces for a glorious
crayon-mosaic stained-glass
heaven in the end
if there's a plan
it's in the place
where you'll go blind
if you try to see.
tried faith in fire
gold loses its shape
in the crucible
your heart goes armored
clad in the remnants
of holy medals
"I don't know
what I believe
any more."
I'll be around.