painting break

2003-08-24, 1:19 a.m.

or every leader there are ten thousand with an itch in their heart, an ache for the pedastool. for each pair of wild eyes, each piercing stare, there are two people who have forgotten the past scars and vacant stares of 3 a.m. Indents, as i ferment to forget, are present on the pillow which i lay my head on. They flash through me -i am the dust that floats in the projectors light sometimes- in non-sequitor repitition, but they do not have their former sting. Not exactly precise, dance steps are soundless when you pain to hear them; that is until you find yourself amoung the dancers, sweating brows and a sea of red.