30 June 2009
Maybe I'm daydreaming. She reminds me of music. Her face. We have come to the age of double men. We do not need mirrors anymore to talk to ourselves. When Marianne says, "It's a fine day," I wonder what she's thinking. All I have is that image of her saying, "It's a fine day." Nothing else. What's the point of figuring it all out? We are made of dreams, and dreams are made of us. It's a fine day, my love, in dreams, in words, and in death. It's a fine day, my love, it's a fine day in life.
28 June 2009
i lack a frame to put you in when you're an ocean and a rock away i feel you in the pocket of my overcoat my fingers wrap around your words and take the shape of games we play i feed your words through my buttonholes, pin them to my fingerless gloves thoughts of you warm my bones i'm on the way, i'm on the phone, let's get lost, me and you, an ocean and a rock is nothing to me i am far away from where you lay, awake the day while you fall to sleep an ocean and a rock away i keep you in the pockets of my dresses and the bristles of my brushes spin you into my curls today i spoon you into my coffee cup, spin you through a delicate wash, i wear you all day i wear you all day thoughts of you warm my bones, i'm on the way, i'm nearly home, let's get lost, me and you an ocean and a rock is nothing to me