2005-04-09 - 11:10 p.m.
S.P. Attack Me!
Chasing her youth with primary colours. A stage in a park, wooden Dancing Dancing Shoes echoes, bouncing resounding from tree to tree, seat to seat, ear to ear. And she's smiling, sun kissed cheeks, laughing. "Lets say poetry" she says and he laughs, bowing his head shifting his weight in the way he does, I know you do. Reading poems thats sensless. It's not senseless in the sky in the sceme in the place of it. All. All the parts. And theres the tick tack toe the evil games circle exes. Circles of x's sounding resounding of had and hadnot conversations. Circle noises and tension. Theres a rush a buzzing white noise. White noise! White noise and black noise, dark noise from banisters sliding and vibrating REverberating though it all, white mostly white with squares of other things. Broadway lights, rubix cubes, hints of rebellion the warm tones of fuzzy sun melting pressing yet not penetrating. And she looks so beautiful when she smiles. Peace and calm and anything at all. Yellow shirts pasted framed in against blue skies and where does it come from? Where does it start? How far out do you possibly have to go to hit the no end. To hell with lends to hell with college to hell with the buses and trains and doormats to wipe your feet on. Damn it to hell. Let us just be simple. Flawed and simple left to linger to wonder Obligations are for shit. The streets the paper you have to write. Keep going she said, keep going because you never know whats catching up. You'll have a typewriter I'll have a pen and nothing will come into context except new pages of paper and you'll always smile and I won't lie. No dinner prayers or clocks and no one no one to stop. To pay. Just days and letters and wooden tables pushed aside, carpets rolled cadles lit to dance. Only to dance and laugh and make love and write and spin in cirlces grabbing and grasping and scattering while gathering the next things the next text.
