about the drink of repeat

Feb 12, 2005 22:54

licking the pavement, tongue scuffed scratched on the little pebbles that escaped the firm grasp of forever. callous. roughed up shivered up in a cold roll of the dice rain drops and walls leak and who can help but notice that these socks are pulled up around my knees. sure there was a match break, a ciggarette burning my inner thigh, but who would pay much mind when gummi hearts are involved?
not i.
ticking and tocking clicking and clocking the speed of the blue sky running past treading water traded for grey, and something said about standing still and time rolling past us, ghost like decisions to turn backwards insides outsides and avoidance is a plague amoung horses whose power they think they need but really when its on those paper rolls its about nothing more than the passing scenery. tree one. angle two. fade. burn from the light and the soundtrack could peel out and loop for eternity, stores for the age speakers on high its not a speakeasy so much but a tip toe to happy and tasting like cheap champagne, a party till the bell boy wakes up and can't find his towel.
two screws coming lose in a window pane in a window frame in a water stain, till monday comes at 9 ae em and i never really thought about the logistics of the steps till i shut up the ear muffs and put my head to the tracks.
empty vibration.
empty echo.
hullo? cold. rust. turns hands orange sometimes red. slow motion upturned to notice the way these dried up reeds are moving backwards against the wind. languid in their frailty, snapping at the slightest wink of forward moving right along. trails to the lost woods
rabbit droppings.
gone canine. mist rolling of hilltops and down to this rail yard, the monks are coming in their orange robes, reflecting light time singing in those foreign tongues lapping at words rabid monkey style. dance along the tracks stepping over the siderails cause another train is beating along..
hear it
see it
smell it off key sound off urgency.. to get off the track that i was never on but that penny was a bad idea and the holy men are switching lights and their songs weren't for me in my huddled position in the mud.. monotone.siren.songs.loud overpowered by velocity. the reeds that resist keep me anchored
elevated face to sky to sun kissed, i can almost hear the hum of my forgotten heart, its singing to something like violas , its dancing picking up speed.. turning on edge and diving down the tunnel where the white bright light of god disappeared to.
noticed.
now.
a hand.
panic.
time to be noticed. the monks are chasing. the dogs are snapping at the heels. the heart is beating. fasterfasterfaster. skipped over tracks and trelliss and alighted tram 12 heading into town.

the opposite direction
away from my forgotten head games, my tongue scuff marks, and that terrible heart, the sound of those strings is slowing and drowning its self out.
in
the
ticking tocking of my arhythmic watch

beat.
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