Out of all the stars, it’s this one, beating down the doors of the day. Out of all the worlds, it’s this one, turning beneath our feet. Fate’s funny that way. Full of falling skies and shifting sands, earthquakes and tidal waves and wild fires. One thing happens so half a dozens things don’t. All the imponderables that accumulate because of the lay of the land or the impromptu entrance. The consequence of causality always a bunch questions that only get to exist because the chips fell. All these miracles even rarer still. If it all played out again, it wouldn’t be us except with goatees. If it all played out again, the asking wouldn’t be ours at all.
It’s all dregs and remnants, photographs and regrets. Spring slowly overheats, the flowers beckon red and yellow while the sky turns a brutal blazing blue. The cruel asymmetric romances and the wild flourishes of burr and weed. Cast off sad alphanumerics become impenetrable mysteries, spun on a turntable, run through magnets and mazes as the crows rally and the traffic rattles past. Things chosen and things that were not continue to occur, people love and leave, life comes striving through the seems and death nurtured and nourishes the ever imminent next. The labored breath, the insistent wishes, the crushed heart ardor and the impending night.
You come to me in the dead of night. You come to me in the middle of the day. A fleeting glimpse, a fragment of a sentence, the echoes of love and longing radiating from the lives of others. Strange wandering dreams where we speak again, desperate kisses and the hint of whiskey on your lips. It’s a constant manifestation of the latest iteration of this starved and grasping heart. I know it’s a one way street. One thing happens, then another. That’s the way that happenstance becomes destiny. A lifetime of mistakes and being mistaken. A rough patch and a respite, a roadside attraction leaking the bones of better days.
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