Sunday, April 3, 2011

those to come

We wear the skins of strangers, changing faces day to day. The skies may blind us, the rivers may devour their banks, all history only silt and storm. All memory only clouds and flurries. The years exchange our loves and rivals, clearing the stands and emptying the shelves. Some of us move forward, some of us trail behind. Some of us lose ourselves off the path, never again to find our way. All in all it's a mess. Forget about finding that flame, forget about finding that soul. Most days finding a parking space is hard enough.

I am that train wreck slowed in perception. I am that disaster breaking windows and raising dust. Things collapse so often all around, I often miss the moment of structural failure. I have injured my enemies before I knew I was in a fight. So I gather scars in untidy bouquets. I gain sore-hearted paramours without an inkling I had a sweet-heart to bruise and break. You could argue I should pay more attention. Say what you will-- I tend to save my eyes for the road.

So have yourself a drink, have yourself a smoke. Enjoy the bright days and thick nights, the embrace of the crowd and the reverence of the uncaring sea. I hope there are day to squander and nights to savor left you. The clock doesn't care about your wishes. The clock won't wait for you to finish up. There isn't much left of me, but I will spare what I can if you need it. Time leaves us all behind too soon. The world is wide and hungry and full of hordes and wonders. Forget that sin, abandon that brittle wish. We all wind up so broken, I can hardly begrudge any one a break.

No comments:

Post a Comment