She's a lover and a liar
A flirt and a fighter
Where do these angry remarks come from-
Her lovely lips
Or her haughty heart,
Sick with a love story
That will never come true,
Wishes she could trust the words.
But "what if" is a lying fiend.
Judas, her male counterpart
(make her what you will).
She wonders if what she's doing is right-
Soft hands often seduce.
=====
fireflies soar over the grass
life perpetual- i'm
dancing in it
spinning in the seductive (circle) cycle
that will always keep them
guessing- clouds ~swim~ through
my hair, life !dances! though
my heart- no matter
how much society toys
with the solid (liquid) dirt
beneath our feet, the sky
is EVER present
life is beautiful- one
consistent *noise* slurs
by the entity of souls, past
the f.r.o.z.e.n watcher- LIFE
is seen, then gone
====
I went to an oboe concert
and watched the people,
Not the player.
One boy kept rubbing his chin,
Nearly concealed by stubble.
The oboe echoed off the walls,
All around. A man closed his weary eyes,
Soaking in the notes that ricocheted
from the chapel pillars. The music danced and dangled
From Our Lady's dainty feet. Another woman
Stroked the ivory keys
Along with the elegant accompanist.
A girl sat alone in the corner,
And, by doing so, made herself beautiful.
And an endearingly disapproving old gentleman
Watch me
Watch him
And scowls.
I love him for it.
Darn kids, always daydreaming.
====
In between heaven and hell, there is a
(WAITING ROOM)
For what important place can you go
Without one?
The lights shine too bright,
The coffee is weak,
And angels and demons cross
Back and forth, carrying old magazines
With their covers falling off.
The couch leaks stuffing,
And every five minutes, someone coughs
And breaks the putrid, sickly silence.
There are two wooden doors that never quite close,
And we can go either way.
I hope some day, I'll clasp your hand
And wait for our fait to be announced.
-inspired by "I Will Follow You into the Dark," by Death Cab for Cutie
====
Confession-
sometimes I put quotation marks
around what I say.
This makes me feel
Slightly more at ease.
As if... someone else said it...
It's more valid.
====
I never felt so empty
As the time
That I gave you my latest
And greatest
And you left it on the coffee table
To serve as a coaster
For three days straight.
====
Where are you going
So officially dressed
Your fate awaits you
And not one can tell in which direction
You are headed.
Make no mistake-
You walk with purpose.
Walking alone into a sea of fate.
====
Willy Loman
You sad, self-depreciated (-ing?) *man*
Built up your dreams
But the world moves too fast for you,
Kid.
You are trapped in a tomb of a city,
A death like marriage- your solution
is The Grave.
No well attending funeral for you,
Pal.
Just those who shared in your lunacy...
Because that is the true
Death of A Salesman.
-inspired by Death of A Salesman, Arthur Miller.
====
She's sweating- good.
This shows progress!
Maybe there is a (human)
under there
A (person) under the remarks
A (soul) under the gauche sarcasm
Not just another lifeless machine.
UNIQUE!
...
But, so is everyone else
She's pouring sweat
Maybe-
She's not a human after all!
The machine learned
How to profuse liquid.
Next, her Proffessor Frankenstein cries, she'll be sobbing
Showing *real* emotions.
Oh! What we can do with technology these days!
The (robot) girl slouches
in the corner
Crying for the humanity -?-
That doesn't recognize
Real humans apart from a pile
of
nuts and bolts.
====
Fate or hate
Change is written on the wall
We are human
Go with the rolling of the ball of life
Hey, man, don't you notice
Everybody can change the future.
Don't stifle the eventual.
It's just the way it goes-
Mistakes can happen-
But life brings highs as well as
Lows.
We are the human race
Let's just pace ourselves
Work on this plate in front of us
Because inevitably it's all
Going to change from night to day
Change is written on the wall.
====
your car gets more dented every day
and her hair changes
with the seasons,
with the reasons
you find her lovely- because she's unpredictable
but you break up with her for the same reason
flashes of your mind fade like
the blue of the lake as it t.u.r.n.s to
ice- "show me the constellations you know!" a
childish demand and here you stand
at the bridge of memories. look back
on the beauty of life you strarted with
her, flying kites in the sky of
different seasons
different reasons
unpredictable
your eyes changing like the seas
show me the way
B
A
C
K
W
A
R
D
S
====
By day, he's a cubicle man
Sucked into corporate America-
Wearing Armanis and driving a benz
And instructing his company like a drill sergent.
But then he comes home, and strips off the world.
He thinks of the girl he once had,
Composing songs as the stars come out.
He imagines that his is gluing the notes
To her eyelids,
To his love's cheeks.
The night quickly fades,
As do his imaginings of taking his lady
Up and down the Nile in
A long rowboat by moonlight.
The peniless guitar (sitar) player
Tucks away the dreams of his cortezan into
His case, and dons
An Armani suit.
====
There's a house on her route home
That stands out from all the others,
Seperates itself from all the grey boxes,
Repeating over again and again.
No, this house is a strange sort of egotist
In love with its own European style
A rose among the thorns.
The girl marvels every day at its
Poetic beauty, pondering it.
Her worn copy of Wuthering Heights
Sits jeleously in her lap while she wonders at
Its occupants. Is it a little girl who asks
Her mother to count the stars with her?
Or are the inhabitants a newly married couple,
Still enchanted with the smell of each other's clothing?
Does an old man live alone there-
Remembering life like Billy Pilgrim, remembering one million
Peices of life at a time?
Does a college student live there-
Excited about the theories of Proust and Nitzche?
But, the girl realizes, turning back to Heathcliff and Kathy,
This house is probably occupied by a workaholic father, suckling
at a beer bottle,
a depressed mother,
and three kids dazzled by the wonders of J-Snizzle,
While The World lies at their fingertips
Untouched.
