there are words that
stir
in the dark
I grasp at them
helplessly
as they slip
between my fingers
like grains of sand
they arrive
and leave
just as quickly
I try to keep my thoughts
but they flutter
like restless birds
in my cupped hands
*
my hands and feet ache
and my head is heavy at the end
of every day
but I keep waking
wanting
even though there are days
where I forget why I'm here
and what I'm trying to do
42 means the meaning of life is whatever you want it to be
Rough patch
I get little snippets, like photographs, brief cinematic clips, fleeting feelings that come and go. They come in sometimes like tidal waves but when you try to capture them it's like the night vanishing at daybreak, those last grains of sand in the hourglass.
Bare feet on wet pavement
And fingers fumbling with the torn seams of jacket pockets
And loose strands of blond and cotton candy pink and blue hair
And lips slightly parted
And a gaze that just isn't there
voyeur
I've lost myself
again
set sail for nowhere
I found myself
standing
in the doorway
watching your back arch
like a bridge
over my troubled waters
breaking the silence
there is
a numbness in my hands
my head
swimming
and thoughts of the hem
of yhour dress
are further away
but the light around your head
is like a halo
through rippled glass
and it penetrates
this warm empty distance
to cold hard substance
to a feeling
I struggle to hold
and often wish to forget
payphone calls
his fingers fumble for the
receiver
but it's too late
they hear her
they hear her
and now
he's never going home again
the boy's gone wild
the boy's gone wild
there was a hole here
little pieces of me
I offer them to you
freely
I cannot hide forever
and you will put me in
a warm light
fingers turning soil
water
refreshing my old roots
till the leaves wilt
and you prune them
with the gentle precision
of a surgeon
and the touch
of a over
maintain
and
sustain