| being there |
[06 Feb 2006|07:30pm] |
someone else's song
hangs in the
air waiting for some kind
of signal or
go. breaking to broken things
strewn all along the sides of the
room and no words
to alleviate the dull
sounds of cracks.
poems are to be read
while not, necessa
rily, understood. definitions'
way of according
certain things to certain others
brings the whole lot to
confused.
meanbye, Why sits alone
in the corner
stalling a hit and, too, waiting
for relativity
to take...or to
love...relatively,
or love
actually, or to only be in
there. take the
sense this does not make
and move it out,
around the side of the building so
that no one sees you do it.
but...until until, verily, we
may try and try, regardless
of the sense and movements
we do not make.
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