Monday, October 15, 2001

The thoughts of actually defying the laws of time and physics
are what seem to pre-occupy my mind.
Every scrap of paper written has a date stamped on it:
eight fourteen zero one, eight fourteen zero one
and on the flip side scribbled quietly
the days that you really found yourself;
for the moments that your heart
wishes the laws of time and physics
quietly fell away to the side.

You have voices for a year and a half tell you something
about yourself that you never realized,
yet you stubbornly disregard them.
Like an idiot that does nothing but control the lines,
you feel the pressure immensly on your palm,
the last time you touched her hand,
the last time your heart was calm.

When she tells you it's too late,
you breathe heavily and believe everything she says.
You watch her get smaller as you walk away,
through the gravel,
through the angst, pain and the back porch
where suspended through the grass
sits a leather saddle.

As that house get's further away you know it's ok,
you see the hammock where they lay,
you tell yourself that the day set's slower
when you drive away,
that there is nothing else,
because you believe every word she says,
and the memories turn from day
to night then you hope they don't go away.

Every day becomes a fight for time,
everyday becomes a photograph
where the two figures hold each other
on some ledge a million miles from anywhere.
Sitting in a frame with the borders made of gray,
on your nightstand that mentions everything
to you when you sleep, you hear that it's too late,
that time was your enemy
and you try not to believe anything she says.
posted by HZA | 11:51 PM | email | archive