how do we always hear what we want to hear and how do we convince ourselves that somebody’s listening? somewhere out there, listening to us?
don’t be ridiculous, honey, ain’t nothin’ we can tell those clever folks down yonder. nothin’ at all, y’hear me?
i pick up the book but i can’t make out the words for the bleating of my heart. why so loud, and more importantly, why so helpless? it’s like i learn nothing at all through that slapstick rise and fall. the show goes on;
for continuity’s sake, the boom boom boom still echoes.
the skies were beautiful today, a moving swirling sort of gray. i would have thought that’s what mercury looks like spilling from a bottle. i coulda slept under that sky; in the cold, in the rain (and it had started drizzling too, i told ya), but in my teeshirt. for you it was not enough. you were filled with your own heights.
and when you are kilometres up above, the sky is nothing but what it really is: clouds forming, moving, dissipating.
how is it that it is how it is? how does it always come to nothing?
i heard the phone ring, i heard the lion roar, i heard the heart go
it was nothing.