| i wrote this on Christmas, to "Flightless Bird, American Mouth". this is so important to me. |
| i wrote this on Christmas, to "Flightless Bird, American Mouth". this is so important to me. |
and they lived happily ever--I met her sometimes last thursday, watching her comb her hair on a park bench.and they lived happily ever--
hey, you're beautiful. hi. what's going on?
i fall in love.
"don't love me" she says, so i
build my love in the dirt, a hole, so that she can't find it. she does, and smiles like a teacher.
"be careful about who you love," she says, so i then
try to look at architecture for ideas on how to be safe.
a girl has a sandcastle across the street from me. looks safe.
so i build my love out of tall sticks to keep bad things out.
she gets upset and tells me how fast it will catch fire.
the forest is on fire today.the fire is eating at the forest. small animals wander about aimlessly without cause or reason apart from life. green goes. brown dies. flowers shrivel, the earth says goodbye the forest patiently, patiently waits, hoping that the fire will get bored and tired the fire will find its heart somewhere amongst the ashes and burn itself out. maybe the fire will see that this is not just a forest, but a little piece of the whole world people with families and kids and butterflies falling in and out of love and they don't smell good anymore and ithe forest is on fire today.
i miss you and the way the ligh
this is just youif i turn my head at just the right angle and breathe in deeply it's like your right there, smelling of cookie crumbs and touchable hair.this is just you
i miss you, but i can't say it. i'm a little in love, but i won't wish it.
i think it would just be safer if you wrap up your heart in bandages so i can pretend that it's been mine all along.
i've always been okay with sharing my toys.
taking a rideit was like remembering eventually that all balloons pop toys will break elevators will take you back down to the bottom floor and roller coasters get stuck, leaving you upside down staring at everything in the wrong direction and wondering why you let your friend convince you to get in line in the first place. it's like feeling your hair stand on end, pointing at the ground pointing at the screaming, sobbing bystanders who point back looking dazedly into the hazel eyes of some anonymous fireman who pities you and is inflating his ego by saving your ass. the way the earth turns backtaking a ride
| the flowers you gave me are rotting, and still I refuse to throw them away. the bulbs never opened quite fully (but they might) so I'm waiting and staying awake. things I have loved I'm allowed to keep. I'll never know if I go to sleep. |
!!!!
Big Grin
--
--
Artist is never quite satisfied.
She never sleeps, but still she can dream.
And she can dream without sleep.
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