.echoes.

a million words flutter about my head like confused butterflies in a summery haze

7.30.2005

it seemed almost reactionary,
fingertips flying across keys.
i found myself
barefoot on the sidewalk
stepping in the places the moonlight
would leave puddles
to flood my footprints.
the bees are out tonight
before this heavy midwest heat
could make its way
into the thick
of this qucikly melting afternoon.
my fingers are still sticky from the night before last.

7.19.2005

our shilouettes are dripping down the walls
while the dawn breaks
unweaving the secret shadowy perfection
that fills some void with false understanding
unnamely
word l e s s
perfectlycontentsilence
salted stark beauty

i sometimes thought in the serenity of the morning
that pieces of stars

exploding
fell daintily upon my bed
through my window
when you look
.at just
therighttime
then i realized that
they are no more than
frag
ments of-
pieces of dust
falling through the sunlight.
we breathe them in and shut our eyes.
i thought i could feel honesty breathing
softness lends its neck to betrayal
in a whisper
before we'd ever know how to be children.
innocence relieves sadness,
trite bullshit philosophy stings
eversosweetly
shouting and banging on the windows
in a modern day materialist palace.

we miss a moment every time we shut our eyes,
even if just to dream.

callouses squeak on hardwood floors.
the bottoms of our feet,
filthy with the agony of daily purpose,
hum the blues every time we take a step.
even if we're dancing on wet grass,
we can still pretend to hear them sigh through their soles.

we all thought sweetness was free
until we became consumed
with dumping our lives into dirty rivers
and watching them drown
momentarily sending bubbles to the surface.

i'd never want you to know
how often i expel what i consume.
i'll never tell you.
i'll never look back.

silence is honesty too.

7.10.2005

it's a small, quaint informality,
we're bumping our teeth against steel
everytime we hit a crack in the sidewalk.
it's a rythmic dissonence in the back of our brains.
we walk like dusk. sunlight draining from
suburban streets, and us
crouching in the shadows of houses
standing perfect and orderly in vainglorious judgment.
before you notice my hand extended alone
in weathered absence,
you'll notice that the cracks between my fingers
are lacking warmth to fill in the light that streams through.
you'll curl your face into my neck
and hold me closer than anyone can ever know
while secretly i'm praying
that the panes of glass staring out the windows
will contain themselves long enough before they shatter.