PoeticaL
cluttering the net since 2001

a sky too blue

Sunday, May. 19, 2002
I drove there to sit in the driveway before I am served an evacuate notice. I laid down on the driveway like I had done a thousand times getting asphalt hair�.staring at the stars. I tried to connect the star dots to get back to a picture of anything�.anything true. Nothing true came. I took it all in. The slant of the roof, the sky�the way my car made shadows across the grassy sand of the front yard, the trees arms against the sky. I took pictures with memory, not wanting concrete film to haunt me like thorns.

I went into the vast emptiness of my former life. I again lay down on the oh this is too blue carpeting that I remember hating from day one. I ran my hands over it and was gifted by a thousand dog hairs of a lifetime ago. I took in the perfect white casings around those windows to the world and could hear my once upon a time self exclaim �brand new�. The memories coursed through me�.one last time.

One last moment of finality.
A look at poetry graffiti dancing the walls.
My world�.and the only thing I think is
the words crooked and bent are mine and
they can�t take that away for the value of society.
Back in my car, windows down, music loud �..
highways caressing tires
smashing away the miles of memory.

��close scene��..

���open new scene��stick figure �..the cousin to Harold�.the crayon a can�

spewing paint�..white on white, white on black�.
white on yellow�.white right out�.whit-ed�.write��.no more�.
it�s perfectly alright �.
tears washing walls of history�.
no more�erasing poetically
blue skies�.ransacked by white, ran thru black on trite
I can lose, but I will never crop out my fight
Humid air rushes into lungs
Asphyxiation mixes up with paint
Puked up fucked up anger
It all comes
It�s not gone
And then you
I try to tell someone
I think that something inside
Glues back what
Just came undone
I want to look up at the stars
and connect the dots into something
tangible but the world keeps moving
I'm losing the picture I start to draw.
All I manage to do
Is watch helplessly as the pen cries


*note* - I am ok. I feel like that little boy that held his finger in the dam that was leaking. The house situation was like that. I let go. I got drowned. Tonight I swam to shore. Tonight I took back what was mine. Tonight someone said �if you need me tomm. all you have to do is call� And I knew that life goes on. Good goes, but it will come back again. So while I lost it �I found something new.
12:29 a.m. ::
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