It’s a strange night here with the wind and the frozen snow, and I’m upstairs hearing it howl - the thoughts of someone new being easily forgotten in it - and I’m not yet sure. Not sure how I feel either. Feel the gloriousss -damn- wake of nights out drinking again, in my renaissance of beginning age, and it should be catching up any minute — like the piles of the books half read at 4 points of the bed, and the record player left on just spinning-glitch-spinnnn.
Sometimes I like that sound better than any of the motown records that remind me of glory days and my old love.
Sometimes I like that sound better than any of the motown records that remind me of glory days and my old love.
{Speaking of} - Was thinking about the stage the other night - the lights again, and the movement of it - and it all got rolled up in my mind with - shooting from the darkened seats looking in, to dancing looking out, to walking back down that street, to a blurred motion through the whole blackened year more recently past. Like a dream that begins and turnssss.....hear the spiraling music and you WAKE.
It was the darkness in all that, that I had loved then - painted myself black - and wore the cobwebs and the funeral tales; loved the violence of hearts bleeding and ravens calling and my dear Poe and Yard. The friend I had in all of that, still do, — how we marched in our woe down Howard.
It was the darkness in all that, that I had loved then - painted myself black - and wore the cobwebs and the funeral tales; loved the violence of hearts bleeding and ravens calling and my dear Poe and Yard. The friend I had in all of that, still do, — how we marched in our woe down Howard.
But then he really found me - that real life version of a night you can’t see through and it wasn’t magic anymore. Stole stars out from the always-night and then I stood there for so many months…
Now there’s a lamp on in the hall when I come home that I love (used to hate it), and a sharp cut of sun that comes up from the floor to the pillow in the morning at the exact spot where the floor creaks upstairs. Everywhere creaks like me hah. And it’s empty bottles filling up the big old kitchen 'sill, the metro rides, the music, and the warmth in his hard-to-please eyes when he walks out my door. That was the last look we left off on :). Yeah, theres a joke always on my lips on Friday night, plans filling up, and my name called out of offices, and the ah, life again.
Guess I’ve just storied you into spring, while we wait for it…
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