cresto phango!

the tenth time i check my phone

2006-12-26, 10:46 p.m.

i once had a conversation with a bird who perched on a tree limb outside my window. we talked of the moon and stars, and those days which would refuse to explain themselves, even to the secret corners of the night. he told me that there were uncountable sunrises missed by us -he did not know what the sun was made of, but he knew its blushing, morning face better than any of us- and how the wind played hydrosymphonies with the rain drenched leaves in the winter time. my claim was to be learned; knowing the surface temperature of our glowing father, and the supersonic music sheet of the winds. click clack, flittering wings, you look and dont perceive, write those notes you wicked children, he squawked and moaned in eerie notes that put my veins in embarrased knots of crimson.

theres the white white door, listening to sleek and silky voice, you can come make me blush whenever you want; my skin is soft from eroding infatuations. i think i could learn to drive, pick off the white lines and dotted dividers that tattoo the landscape. or i could be pushed back into a dream whose blurred lines feel like belonging... and exist as molded sheet rock, waiting for my weight to crush its chest and collapse in my lungs.