Leave it all to the dustbin of history. Leave them for God to sort out. The music does not change just because it isn't playing. The song won't stop just for silence. Roll down the window and feel that imitation of wind. Don't even bother to keep your eye on the road.
The typical day closes out a little poorer for the exquisite recipe. The dreams a little rougher because of a pretty face. Typing out these sparse manifesto, these letters to never and a half. The drum roll and the lipstick traces. The way that sunlight slowly fills up the moon. The cat makes a few puncture marks in my right leg. Another paragraph laid to rest without a single reason.
Sometimes I say too much, but mostly it is too little that I whittle away at. These blue moods and dry heave benders. These weekends full of a longing for emptying. Driving in a haze of smoke and wishes. All the stars I puzzle after, the keys I touch and touch. The habit of writing becomes a spelling lesson. Grammar a handful of pebbles, my heart lost on some midnight road. Everything ends left behind.
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