Wednesday, 22 March 2006

• Currently Listening Later That Day By Lyrics Born see related

  so of course there is nothing to say, excepting the fact that as usual I am a fool, or at least foolish in the sense that comes over other's frames and into eyes looking for the souls of old men to steal instead finding mirrors and slaming into itself the feeling dissapates.   Ah like a yawn drawing oxygen into lungs stumped by cigarette smoke the clearing is seen from the forest to be involved somehow in a slight breeze and wafting along a shoreline of knee high weeds, but what beautiful weeds are these, the golden minature trees reading each moment between the sun and clouds and wind and sees the spaces between, above and beyond the long line that drifts from mountains into gray.  Distance is always outrunning present positions, sometimes it is only a block away, others, at least on clear days miles can find themselves swept away

   

  To say that there is nothing to say was a lie I  lie to lay my head down at night, I lie to raise it up, I lie in whispers to (ahem) lovers and I lie in drunk ravings, I'm saving the truth for a single day when all and everything I say matters, when the ear perched across the table is made from hollow parts into a solid recepticle for my words that express my love that I am giving freely, not drawn out like blood lines in needles of reverse traction.   The fact is that when or if this ever occurs, I will probably not know until later, which is not to say too late, but later when I of course realize that I didn't lie all night, and still no one fell asleep with my absolutely annoying ramblings which go on ad infinium. 

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