Post by Steve on Jan 21, 2008 12:21:45 GMT -5
Something reminds me of something, nestled quietly in between the snow and the cracks in the sidewalk. There’s a comfort. Vague, incoherent, something drunk but cordial, sleeping with the snow tonight...
no one will believe me.
a warm cup of coffee, aged `bout a week, micro-waved and sweetened, cigarettes and solitude, but something is sleeping with the snow tonight. there’s more than one that would disagree, but i believe what i see, and something is sleeping with the snow tonight.
not a beggar
not a prophet
not a sinner
nothing bad...
a “something” that has seemed to be missing
always changing form
not a saint
not an idol for any one
other than one heart
and a “something” always has but one heart
that never beats within its’ own chest.
Something reminds me of something, snuggled softly and routinely in between the snow and the cracks of the sidewalk. There’s a comfort. Vague, but practiced, i feel the silence of a hiatus, the stirring up-rise of a composed movement...the monologue of snow, the hushed rest of “something” and the stealthy-sly tingle of emotion...the performance of an old Broadway show...now “off” broadway...still buzzing.
no one will believe me.
a warm cup of coffee and the promise to stay awake for three days...
cigarettes
no
it’s not a saint
nor a prophet
just “something”
that not everyone “gets”
and it sometimes takes a lifetime
to hold on to.
no one will believe me.
a warm cup of coffee, aged `bout a week, micro-waved and sweetened, cigarettes and solitude, but something is sleeping with the snow tonight. there’s more than one that would disagree, but i believe what i see, and something is sleeping with the snow tonight.
not a beggar
not a prophet
not a sinner
nothing bad...
a “something” that has seemed to be missing
always changing form
not a saint
not an idol for any one
other than one heart
and a “something” always has but one heart
that never beats within its’ own chest.
Something reminds me of something, snuggled softly and routinely in between the snow and the cracks of the sidewalk. There’s a comfort. Vague, but practiced, i feel the silence of a hiatus, the stirring up-rise of a composed movement...the monologue of snow, the hushed rest of “something” and the stealthy-sly tingle of emotion...the performance of an old Broadway show...now “off” broadway...still buzzing.
no one will believe me.
a warm cup of coffee and the promise to stay awake for three days...
cigarettes
no
it’s not a saint
nor a prophet
just “something”
that not everyone “gets”
and it sometimes takes a lifetime
to hold on to.