Memory

Ya know, I went back to our old place yesterday.
Walking softly, barefooted, I traced my city-bleached hand along the soft, weathered&worn amber hatch. Smelled the whooshh of scents still stained into the wood, the fabric ..and the now-cobwebbed corners.
It still smelled of everything before us. 
It was still mine, ..once - as the waves swooshed outside. 
It all looked just the same.

Lying down on my old side of the bed we shared - atop the very same old sheets (I realized) that I'd quickly thrown atop it the day we packed up - it was as if, all of it, had been another story written once for fun - for passion - for satiating, maybe a never-ending desire. (Written with scratched out places and underlined love scenes) as I would have laid here like this spilling over with want. 

There went - there it goes...another one of those weird, excruciating moments I've come to live beside - when your old self slams against the "grown-up" with such force that the rigging SNAPs and the boom swingsss, and POPS. 
But you laugh. 
And I'm remembering again how to duck in time.
Remembering again my old reflexes.
Old joys - that go like, like "happy thoughts" when I'm...sailing, tugging the line just right, leaning my whole upper half off the side; peering into the sunset. Studying the waves for what's to come. 
Backwards cap and old freckles. Back again.

That's where I love from.
Even if I've been forgetting lately just where I belong. Where should it go?

See, the waves can only tell you certain things (when you demand too much) - They can only rock you, 
and only throw you, 
-only sadden you, 
and only ease you into temporary peace... 
it seems.
Cause they scatter 
into puddles 
on the CONCRETE.
Ohh, how they do s.c.a.t.t.e.r. At the shattering point when rain hits the same screened windows and falls again, and again...

How we fall again...and again...
But what's the last one? - the last bead of Bay water - that runs down and immerses the path of it's little trail.
I'd like to know a new story like that.
Maybe I just need a new city again.





Daily headphones: Adele's "Rolling in the Deep", Matchbox20's "Real World" and Bob Seger's "Turn the Page"

Geometry

All I make is all I have. 

And I'm still doing penance for all my sins. 

It's funny, this penitentiary.

It's such an easy act to play - much too believable for them to believe. 

They'd laugh and never believe any of it. 

And I never tell the story right anyhow. 

Geometry was always an inconceivable delight.

All the shapes, form the shapes. 

Add up the shapes. 

Mathematically, systematically, they should fit together right. 

But it was so easy to share the answers. 

So easy to make the math not add up right. 

Ain't that just how it goes. 

(Did I get there too predictably?)

It'd be predictable if all my skin shown all the stories.

If all my arms and back and neck had tattoo's. 

Surprises myself sometimes to find it all looks so clean. 

We all look so clean. 

Clean up so nice. Joke so good. 

Joke and tease me until I,..

Until the next idea or adventure greets me. 

And I can show the woman I once was. 

I can show what the night feels like. 

The night sky that is, just above Neverland. 

Never, never, land. 

Never get too scared and come down. 

Life, it's just changing words.