ss1

crying without tears in the darkness
2002-11-26 - 2:36 a.m.


before/after
strangely non-functional guestbook

and I looked into her eyes

the penumbral darkness

radiating from her dumb american soul,

(she's only nineteen you know)

I and she-dooby-dee-bop

raiding her basket and clutching at her love

she...didn't understand.

 

Walking down the street with her,

In bizarre denver darkness,

never know quite whom you might meet,

but then you know everybody

in their morose longing for days forever gone,

"city just ain't like it used to ten or nine year ago",

her enjoying the fact that people get out of our way.

 

And later, in the bedroom,

sharing, that most seminal moments

you can have with a girl,

I rested my hands upon her hips

as I came

poo-pook-a-dooky

preistly arcs of roping cum,

going somewhere,

and I reached out to her,

I mean I physically reached out to her.

And tried to hold her close,

like I do only once with girls,

some girls,

with the maritime smile,

and lotus blossom ways,

a touch and grab that only means one thing

that this is all nonesense,

that the bhuddas and neitches,

and einstine's and planks

make no reason or rhyme,

paradigms shifted-be-diff

every few generations or so

just to have a new bad explanation.

Not one iota of truth, here, there,

anywhere, or any small amount of proof

of reason or rhyme.

And I clutch at her hips, as if to say,

"this is all madness"

and the only truth is to be found

right here,

between two people

the only thing we can understand,

yet, truly, still the mystery of the ages,

 

She shrugged me off,

making love with her eyes closed

thinking of her ex boyfriend or something.

She was only nineteen,

needing only the heat,

and not the knowledge.

bwazaaa.


a template by wicked design

about comment designer archive archives newest diaryland

tml>