Friday, April 16, 2010

some days

are rain on the

i think i am writing now
(again) because
it didn't quite register
before. but
everything is
quite diffuse. this seems
to be an hourglass
cut in half.
watch the sand pour
out into the wind
& be dissolved by
all its tiny
vacuums. i don't think i
can handle this.
the interference is
immense. you are
unaffected (in-
different) & i am
split into
infinity. my body plays
sadness on the piano
& my eyes
cut chords
on the guitar. i know nothing
& yet i know everything
that will happen.
i am not the watershed
but simply the exception
in the rewrite of
the plot. who am i.
what am i good for. was
i put in this vastness
(between the clouds &
the subatomic
for any other reason than
to vicariously
experience what others
are plagued by. i don't know
if this is
someone guide me.
please: please:
i need some signal.

you are the unlit
motel sign
in the pouring
rain on
a lonely
for a likewise

[picture courtesy of jennifer lawson]

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