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[19 Apr 2004|04:44am] |
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music |
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idiot wind - bobby zimmerman |
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maybe you and i, we, can admire the shape of things when theyre there right in front of us ready for the fingering fondle inspection of our eyes and maybe our slick heavy palms can de-crease these wrinkles in the bare linen weave that holds us together...its not on the table to want whatever we want, we must want what is right, what is harmless, what is altruistic. i've snapped all my twigs over thoughts of how you sleep in the same bed with...her. you would shop for groceries with...her. and the sticks lay themselves in piles ready for pyre. i lack rank here, but i have never made an effort to be subordinate. because its easy, afterall. its readymade and its formless, void of meaning without your actions...grey.
its time again. an hour and eleven minutes later, dearest dear. and what JOY is here? should a blind woman apologize for knocking into you on the street? perhaps we were a dream. perhaps the repeat of some faded romantic and ultimately gory myth...to think if shakespeare would ever get ahold of us...and what RAPTURE do i have to sing? that the grey is just a little less rain and more silver lining...? i should say that grey always reminded me of a certain lack of intertia...and between black and white i would rather have blue. by magic...you could arrange that, i'm sure...
and then we would be fixed for whatever we could ever imagine having the gall to want. but - as it stands - i want rapture. i want light and hues of yellow morning spreading across the romantic mangle of two bodies - one of them mine - i want to love who i love without fear of recourse. and i cannot imagine wanting anything less than the promise of that. but you and i, we, are tangled in this bloody grey indefinite mess.
spinning our wheels. treading water. an endless parody, oh dearest dear, i dont know how to be any clearer. we are the love is war weary soldiers and you are the mission and i am lacking rank here and i have never made an effort to be subordinate.
"everything is a little upside down...you're on the bottom...i've never known the spring to turn so quickly into autumn...in order to get in a word with you i have to come up with some kind of excuse...i just find it kina funny...idiot wind blowin through the buttons of our coats, blowing through the letters that we wrote...we're idiots, babe. its a wonder we can even feed ourselves."
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