Heavy trails mixed with trials
Simple shapes like spheres and cones
One reign follows another
The thing about a metronome
Comfort food, arithmetic, working the stops
The weather is up and down
These signs mean something to somebody somewhere
Heavy trails mixed with trials
Simple shapes like spheres and cones
One reign follows another
The thing about a metronome
Comfort food, arithmetic, working the stops
The weather is up and down
These signs mean something to somebody somewhere
On on on on
On off on on
The swelling a sign
The signal a progress
Off on on on
Far from home again with the precipitation
Buying being bringing among
The filling and then the filing then the forever
Off off off off
You’re on and then you’re going
Suddenly follows perception
This container again
This gravity
And finally this willingness
What you hide, I now know
Fall forward, again, and mark your consequences
The light flashing in the corner of your vision
The long dark road, the shifting borders
Field after field after field and once more with the lights
This is the sunrise that will become a memory
This is dew on the exposed skin of your forearms, inside your elbow
You know the smell and you know what it’s like for the possible to be sitting right in front of you in a smart get up
What will tomorrow taste like after all the stitches
On deck or overboard it gets dark early this time of year
Develop, develop, develop, develop
The wasteful won’t inherit jack in this gothic romance
And a silhouette and a promontory and weather.
Retire to the fire and think about a better future
Like train travel and a green economy
We can share.
Is there really a finest goldsmith in any age?
We find ourselves smack in the middle of the Season of the Word of the Year and so many of its brethren,
And while we’re ok on split wood for a while, there’s not enough to last the Winter.
Tomorrow I’ll be back to work.
Meanwhile you’re focused on stretches and taking care of things.
You’re love of architecture is infectious,
And you have so many things to share.
These are the last moments we’ll spend together and we both know it.
Once upon a time all gulfs were uncrossable.
Nobody had a taste for looking back and the plants just kept on growing.
Someone invented the word ford and someone else made great boats and some other someone still was good at bridges.
This is the time that just keeps going.
When I hold up my hand, how many fingers do you see?
Write it down and remember me.
Early December in the midst of borrowed conventions
Some would say focus, others would motion to an equidistance
Forget everything you
It’s a simple spell were you never second in line,
And so much of wrestling is retraining your reflexes.
Habit is to habitat as Barbara is to barbiturates?
That ain’t right.
How’s’about forgetful Sundays and sunbeams shuttled with care?
Fending off fright with complicated confection?
Drumming up support for collective action to counter a century of bad ideas?
Better us than them, as we shuffle into the shadows.
But that which was and will be will be that and that and that again.
But the sky is above you and beside you and below you because the world is round and we’ve known that a long time.
But we’re all tied up with exceptions upon exceptions.
But most tables and chairs, but fingers, but the seasons, but surely more.
There were so many and we make it fewer so you can deal with it.
Will there be ease? Will there be whipping?
Sometimes, sometimes.
I’m still not processing the still loss.
The breakdown of things broken down,
Forgetfulness in the face of horrible times,
Leave behind, leave behind, leave behind.
There’s the one that won’t go on.
There’s the interruption of what we should’ve done.
There’s hindsight owning your ass.
We spot it up again and again.
Sometimes it’s a drain and other times there’s a garbage disposal.
Here’s what you were aiming for, only flayed, thank you very much.
Drift is real.
A hole in the ground is real.
What I mean to say, is I miss you.