ill be gone when the next day breaks

2004-11-25, 2:02 a.m.

so i come over the hill, with the trees washed in a dirty black paint, and the sky is burning up. i drive down, dodging the limbs and the slick spots in the road, a momentum of color; this is a wet shirt, left out to dry and fade under the growing moonlight. for five minutes or so, there we two skies. to the west, shattered stained glass, rosey pink and fire engine red. i was stuck to my car door, hoping that just for a little while, everything could be this same color. i turn and the truck is in flames, the window displays a face riddled with unnatural tones, the way we might blush when we look at gods face.
to the east there was a criss-cross blanket of clouds blurring the view of the moon, or maybe the moon's view of earth. somehow the spikes of gnarled wood, towers of trunk and leaf, were petitioning for a place in the silver blue line of fog on the occidental hill tops. they were pushing for a denial of those ordinary collections, the daily assumptions we make before our mind comes to (this way we arent given a chance to question), and i was watching like a springer fan watches a hillbilly brawl on stage.
its been that long, you see, since i was able to live alongside some other person, uninhibited by personal boundries that keep us sterilized; this is the needle encased in vacuum sealed plastic. its no wonder i feel less like a human and more like a petroleum biproduct.

robots can formulate math equations

mannequins can wear all the latest fashions

a spray can is easily told to follow instructions and follow the dotted lines of composition

none of these can account for the way a finger traces a bodies curves, or how you collapse in hopes of being rebuilt.
maybe thats why people are so dearly fond of the heart, we seems to have the simultaneous melt and boil of a heart taht wants us to love.