In
writing on 08.20.09 at 11:41:36 AM
we have read that dreams are under
the guide of a subconscious
wunderkind cinematographer
who leaves the movement of
dollies and the lensing to
the lesser hands of stored
proposition and delectable
narcissism.
we know that time is drawn up
in that tracing paper book
left in all of those rooms
we retreat to when the night is
colored with left over
crayons from the box of 64
left to melt in the sun.
we learn that each direction
is really just the next
dance recital of those ballerinas
that are only interested in
the clippity-clap their tap
shoes make as we dance into oblivion.
In
writing on 08.09.09 at 12:14:08 PM
you tell exactly what
you want and i will make sure
it happens: now.
In
writing on 08.09.09 at 12:13:23 PM
i know that i could sleep next to you:
we would huddle in all of those
fairytales to hide the monster
living in our closet.
the one who likes to eat laughter, even
more than he likes those cakes made of
chocolately ideas we forget to feed
us.
i know that i should dream next to you:
we fly over the mountains and
rivers like our capes flittering
with word like confections that
love is made by the sand we are
from and you, you would sleep next to me:
to breathe out all of that
history to make room for us to inhale
future like a hukuh left behind
by the forgetful caterpillar
who smiles to guide the
story.
you know that you would dream next to me:
and we would take off in that rocket
across the galaxy on the left
hand side of visible
certitude.
you know that we should remember forever:
every unknown quantity that has
us wondering what happens from watch to
watch.
we know that we can keep this together:
even though we worry about how close we are
to the september of our
life.
we know this will never define us, but rather unite us.
In
writing on 08.07.09 at 09:55:28 PM
Angus&Julia Stone//Paper Aeroplane
i know that the pillow
only fits my head
shaping the feathers next
to my exhaled emotion
and hair
tossing
round
and
round
and round
with midnight behind
the silk of what your hands
could steal away
underneath my willow.
i know that the sheets
only form the linen
of ballerinas prowling near
the window breezing
and limbs
turning
over
and
over
and over
against the mystical
framgment of what your mind
could be gathering
by the side of my street.
i know that you are awake
even though distance
is folded near the feet
of my nightly bed
and breathing
in
and
out
and in
is all that inside
every one of these moments
hearing you take
that dream for sleeps sake.
In
writing on 08.06.09 at 09:54:50 AM
your huff and puff
is exactly the tone I want
to hear every night.
In
writing on 08.05.09 at 01:21:14 PM
i woke up feeling
you liked raising my head with
delicate poker hands.
In
writing on 07.25.09 at 02:11:37 PM
solar crackle gas,
on walls in the room,
not on our ground.
