bloody leaves, and sun in the trees
Klick-clock, mouth falls open, ready
to drink from another cup, because the life has been clean supped out
of me. Not in this morbid digression or depression downward, but when
change seeks a fine place in the crook of my arm, I usually pick at it
a bit, entranced with he idea that, within and out of every situation I
put myself into, there is something new and fresh waiting in the
outcome.
Situations blended into swirls of could would you can you.
The faster I try to swim, the more
even the water becomes, until it is just a clean line down. A frosted
glass of thin-coated nightmares, painted on screens for better days. A
wish for a better day. Undone. Undone.
Would you could you will you.
Spill me out and pick the pieces up.
*********************************************************************************************************
Through the marking of the days speaks of change not painted in
clean and thin lines, but smashing across horizons, blended through in
tears. Of hate, and love, and all the other stuff.
I am working working working on this writing writing writing.
I need a vacation, some primary colors to distract me. The sun, my
tossed lover, has been hiding from me lately and I need to adopt and
wrap it around me again, hands to the sky, and sand spiraled down into
the cracks, my toes. I have never quite been happier than on
expeditions of brighter places. And you can stick me on a white beach
anywhere with a little cooler full of plums and I would make do. I
thrive in weather that sun-blossoms do, and my petals have a way of
wilting my mind when darkness and shadows, and lamp light are all I get.
Plans plans plans. Everyone laughs at these, as should I, as every plan
comes to a head and flattens itself out wearily on the canvas, its
smile and head peaking out, laughing at my fortitude.
I feel this need to re-count and re-exact my life. This year has been
full of much change, and loss. Though the more I consider the loss, the
more I realize it is so necessary to everything. The people I have
tossed out, the people now in. Some were just bad influences, others
were just pointless.
Things are on a better path, and my writing should literally explode
out the ass of me, splattering anyone within hitting range in the face.
No more complaints. Just breathe.
With me a little bit.
