Friday, May 29, 2009

not here

It's summer and you're still not here.
I can smell coconut melons and cucumber honey
but I will burn anyway.

The ocean is out there.
I want to swim at night and
you are not here.

I always fall.

I could drive all the way to the coast,
take the one,
stretch my arms through the windows
and let the wheel do
what it may.

And find that wood floor kitchen
with sand scratching at my bare feet
and blame you for the white lacey curtains
but the truth is I can't wait till the wind catches them
and they tango together, left and right, on the tanlged 4/4 of pacific breeze.

There is no time for this.

When this song is over,
I'll remember that I get like this every summer
that I do this to you
that you are not real
that you are just my side B
and that the grass is green inside me
buried beneath eye balls
and walled in where no one can see.

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