progress report
i wake to the scent of swimming pools on my fingers, like a bouquet of chloroform i brought myself in my sleep on the eve of some surprise St. Valentine's Day.
"and the sun it falls/ into the sea/i know i'm the only one for me."
eyes yawning, i float up from unfitted sheets, stretch myself into some wrinkled jeans, wrap it all in a second-hand tie, and drift over the ramparts of a burnt breakfast out into the fabric my day.
don't know (have i ever?) just why, but i am happy today.
i'm refreshing old pages, nourishing new friendships, sending letters i have long needed to send.
a thousand lead pigeons finally flown from my chest - i tear my shirt open, and what does the wound do? ssss-mile.
happiness leaks in, filling my lungs as inexplicably as the splash of red wine which, when it spills, whitens the carpet until it shines like a new tooth. remember that song i promised i would send you? don't hold your breath waiting for it to show up in your e-mail box: i can't send myself as an attachment, and your browser wouldn't know how to accomodate me anyway. this isn't half as bad as it is good. what am i saying?
i have become the song: i am the song. everywhere i go, i play it for the universe, and even when it's napping, the universe keeps the beat.
manslaughter moons uncross their legs, tapping the comets of their feet on the star of my birth.
skee-bop! i am happy today.
"and the sun it falls/ into the sea/i know i'm the only one for me."
eyes yawning, i float up from unfitted sheets, stretch myself into some wrinkled jeans, wrap it all in a second-hand tie, and drift over the ramparts of a burnt breakfast out into the fabric my day.
don't know (have i ever?) just why, but i am happy today.
i'm refreshing old pages, nourishing new friendships, sending letters i have long needed to send.
a thousand lead pigeons finally flown from my chest - i tear my shirt open, and what does the wound do? ssss-mile.
happiness leaks in, filling my lungs as inexplicably as the splash of red wine which, when it spills, whitens the carpet until it shines like a new tooth. remember that song i promised i would send you? don't hold your breath waiting for it to show up in your e-mail box: i can't send myself as an attachment, and your browser wouldn't know how to accomodate me anyway. this isn't half as bad as it is good. what am i saying?
i have become the song: i am the song. everywhere i go, i play it for the universe, and even when it's napping, the universe keeps the beat.
manslaughter moons uncross their legs, tapping the comets of their feet on the star of my birth.
skee-bop! i am happy today.