2004-08-23 - 7:42 p.m.
Cut On The Way-Side
From the outside looking in. in salem. monday at dawn.
We left in search for. radio sounds. dedicated songs. ceiling fans and walls.
We sell ourselves beautiful. with victory marches. news paper clippings. love. beauty queens and kissing teens.
Timing is everything. hope. ink stains. the lone flash from a camera.
We live for everything. rainy window panes. hip bones. parking lots. bars and graduation.
Picture yourself here. smiles pressed into your neck. curls around your finger. flower crowns. peaches.
The scene was perfect. like something from ------'s poems. we sat on black park benches talking politics and tatoos. just like we always do. he told me he didn't want my shit. well, i don't need his either. i could just hear --- saying, "this is why i don't believe in god." but --- kept insisting it'll only get better.
On a stage, opening up in a craze, out of context and out of mind, he sang songs from the drive home. from the night we stopped on the side of the highway and he pulled me in close so i could feel his heart beating into my cheek. the night we really did dance to the slow songs and we lifted our lighters to make up for the stars. to live and let die. to the toast we made in a lonely room. to the sholder of an empty dirt road.
This one's for saturday the twenty-first, and the red leaves of fall, for ------ whom i miss terribly, and --- whom i never really knew before this. it's for the endings of all -- ------- songs, and painting signs in the club house. this one's for the numbers, it's for my own reference, and for when you add it up right everything is aligned in a circle. where everything begins and ends.
