What a Show!
The gutters are crowding, I know it rained, and by now black has fallen over everything. I think they call this season Fall because the leaves fall down. And the wind blows them down, because the temperature runs away. When cars reeve past they made a silvery evanescent shrill against the wet pavement, words and phrases slipping out everywhere. What did they say last time? I don’t know, they go by so quickly. The trees sway, speaking to each other, saying quiet devastating words. Through the streetlight shine their shadows move over me, chaos on the ground. So I stand there and feel wet against the wind, and look back-eyes narrowed, two apertures shinning far.
Looking back seems like the only thing to do, and I do it with a question through my eyes. I guess I’m asking for an answer. I thought I deserved one.
There was Caitlin Pasko’s birthday, when all the faces appeared together and circled round, till it felt like we all were dancing, and I felt like I could have been anyone or they could have been me. And she pulled a chair out to sit legs crossed at me. And when I began to feel stuck, she grabbed me and said “what’s wrong”, she meant it too. I gave her my face then whispered, “It’s just, since I’ve come back, well, I feel like I’m still moving so fast. I’m moving fast at everything and seeing everyone…here…well, they’re not moving at all. But the thing is, I don’t want to stop. I want to do so much.” And the next night she would fold the sleeves of my flannel shirt, watching my skin show, finding my eyes on her.
I would always shake hands with him, look for truth in his face. And I would always laugh cruelly with the other girl, at the other people, and dream for excitement.
Sucking in hard I can hear the burning crackle of the leaves, then drop one to the ground with my shoe on top to smother, smother, smother it dead. I exhale white, letting the feeling work into me. A curdled diseased milk crawling and plundering through my veins to my weakly legs. I want to throw it up and maybe tonight I will, but I walk toward my home-close now it starts to rain.
Ha. I thought I deserved one.
So this is it. So this is my environment. It’s not painful and I’m not surprised, just awed at its reality. Somehow I felt it gaining closer all along; somewhere I sensed it when we were building our temples. One brick at a time. On the superficial care. I guess I’m just afraid of what to do. Everything around me keeps telling me I should think for myself, I should live for myself. Now I get to choose how I am to feel. But I know I’m only happy when I’m living for others. For the admiration and love of others, at a place where we’re all equals and we strive to make an impact on each other. We make this world a dream and escape the ultrarealism.
Looking back seems like the only thing to do, and I do it with a question through my eyes. I guess I’m asking for an answer. I thought I deserved one.
There was Caitlin Pasko’s birthday, when all the faces appeared together and circled round, till it felt like we all were dancing, and I felt like I could have been anyone or they could have been me. And she pulled a chair out to sit legs crossed at me. And when I began to feel stuck, she grabbed me and said “what’s wrong”, she meant it too. I gave her my face then whispered, “It’s just, since I’ve come back, well, I feel like I’m still moving so fast. I’m moving fast at everything and seeing everyone…here…well, they’re not moving at all. But the thing is, I don’t want to stop. I want to do so much.” And the next night she would fold the sleeves of my flannel shirt, watching my skin show, finding my eyes on her.
I would always shake hands with him, look for truth in his face. And I would always laugh cruelly with the other girl, at the other people, and dream for excitement.
Sucking in hard I can hear the burning crackle of the leaves, then drop one to the ground with my shoe on top to smother, smother, smother it dead. I exhale white, letting the feeling work into me. A curdled diseased milk crawling and plundering through my veins to my weakly legs. I want to throw it up and maybe tonight I will, but I walk toward my home-close now it starts to rain.
Ha. I thought I deserved one.
So this is it. So this is my environment. It’s not painful and I’m not surprised, just awed at its reality. Somehow I felt it gaining closer all along; somewhere I sensed it when we were building our temples. One brick at a time. On the superficial care. I guess I’m just afraid of what to do. Everything around me keeps telling me I should think for myself, I should live for myself. Now I get to choose how I am to feel. But I know I’m only happy when I’m living for others. For the admiration and love of others, at a place where we’re all equals and we strive to make an impact on each other. We make this world a dream and escape the ultrarealism.