Threadbare
Friday, Sept. 17, 2004 12:10 am
05 Sep 04 Sunday
masking trepidation with swagger steps. These states of action are, then, deliberately precipitated moments, quite self-conscious.
a counter point against hesitation, self-imposed supplication for protection against regret of chthonian levels.
[it does nothing for the guilt]
It's all just music, syncopated and infinite, in Baudelaire's sense of the word.
I want you to see me, austere like a roman bust, it's how I've been sculpted since those dark summer nights.
Hard to understand, what a human can do to themselves, just to forget.
It's more beautiful then Hubble photographs of galaxies exploding into themselves. watching fireworks with child's eyes, you understand?
permissible to understate, kindly.
this is Doctor Seuss. the feeling of alone is, infinitely, far more abstract.
preceding evolution, even.
I say humanist, you said a drunk.
You said moved on, I say forgotten.
reflected explosions in a child's austere eyes.
there's comfort to be found,
last five:
A Winter Letter - Wednesday, Nov. 28, 2007
almost but not quite - Wednesday, Mar. 22, 2006
rural times, blue skies. it feels so warm over my hair - Wednesday, Jun. 01, 2005
smiles and gone - Monday, Feb. 07, 2005
I caught my love in North Carolina - Monday, Nov. 29, 2004