Bones To Bury

The key is changing and I’m slipping over the landscape and into the grass.  Tall grass.  When the lawnmowers come, maybe they’ll find me, or maybe they’ll mulch me up like field mices.  What a way to go, but if it’s good enough for those soft gentle creatures then the captain of this ship can stear that course too:  karma is my wind and my ocean, and there’s no voyage short enough to want not for companions.

Run, run, fuck.  Run but oh trip slide my god was that worth it?  I heard and felt her breathing.  In the end it’s all some kind of dance.  Sometimes it takes years to figure out what the tempo was, and to begin to hear the ghostly murmours of the music you were moving to.  We should make our own music.  Dance to that with passion.  Hum it or tap it and just grab a hand and start twirling.  It’s all vertigo either way, and like dervishes you could whorl to enlightenment.

Cackle my friend.  Feel warm in your skin, that warm glow is your warm glow.  Strike a light, little buddy, and let the match brighten your features for a moment in incandescence.

You’re giving me noise now with your gasket-face head-blowing.  Too much static now you swine, and too much swine flu.  I can live beside, we just need to keep the cake flowing.
(Rummages and find, former suitcase addendum, former flowing auburn - but my god that was a flowing Nile of red hair - former postcard in your mailbox. haha)
There’s old magic in old dust, and old dust in old magic, and some days more so the other.

Breathe in and sigh, smile and pause, and we can pass this one on as old luck.

This entry was posted on Sunday, June 14th, 2009 at 2:59 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.