Wednesday, November 23, 2005


the water rocks my soul,
and with a felt tipped pen, i am drawn again,
in the sad air sighing,
driving in the morning light, to the lake, now
i see the small, frightful life i was afraid of,
getting high in my manners, and
i slide down to my eyes;
in the sky there are two crows,
waking up the sleepers,
and in the rush hour bumpers,
i crawl to my brain,
for moments to be with you,
finding my hand is already in yours.
the ink is fading, but i am dripping,
and as i slip down the page,
i change, morphology is my theory,
and i will walk down to you, and
we will walk it all away, or walk away
or walk together, or some other nonsense
in the time we spend together, eye to eye.


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