bubba

2003-10-17, 9:51 p.m.

the order of thought boils down to a thin soup, one that is not tasteless but dense like a neutron star. the idea is to write not what has happened or what you have said, but what the spark felt like when it ignited your stomache.

you said the sky looked tiedye, but then i looked at you and i forgot where i had been looking, your eyes are charms to forget everything but your beauty. can the night grow darker once the moon has reached its zenith? can the street sermon of a crazy man sway the lives of passers by? his words could sneak into someones heart like a thief and steal years of collected thought, leaving a business card and an imbued concept of intensity. i wish i could find some wall to break apart on, so that people could collect my pieces and store them in boxes, but you, babe, you could take one piece and make me whole again. i guess in the search for a "goal" in life, i might suppose mine is to be collected in the minds of as many people as possible. but then i find the quietude of this square room so comfortable, in a different life i might have narrated for shadows in a room of smoke and mirrors.