make me,

Things fly through my brain like a heavy flock of birds, the wings so loud, a flutter of sound and color, of feeling --- until there is nothing, an abrupt silence; a place with no shadows. This is the silence that breaks your heart. And what about this heart? A vascular organ that does more than pump blood, what of it? Itching to get down to the nitty gritty, the heart feels measureless, a limitless cavity of child hood homes and millions of years in the future. Because there are things behind your feelings, behind and inside. There are things your love is in love with that you cannot articulate, leave you winded but breathing. Peace however, tranquility reigns because we can show you how, the words and I. We work together, kerchiefed pirates of reality. Yes, we kidnap your faces and your hands and credit-card-exchanges and stuffed up garbage cans and the weather and your loneliness and we fit them together in steady lines and bumpy sentences without a second thought. Or with many thoughts perhaps, thirds and fourths and hundredth thoughts. Regardless, your ours. It is a simple equation: billboarded emotions and subway advertisements people ignore but really, they don't. Really, the things seep in. But, don't worry you. The pretty seeps in too, if you let it. If you lift off, if you suck it in hard enough that it hurts. The hurt is important, the hurt is the vitality -- the punch, followed by the steady dash dash dashes of detachment. The dial tone numbing. The views are side-winding, little pebbles of fake light, little instruments. The people are concerned, and my feet are not touching the ground.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

...'there are things your love is in love with that you cant articulate'