though i'm broke
i'm not broken
and the world outside
seems butter and syrup
while the sun
finds me
sitting at a foreign computer
in someone else's home
i've run up & down
their stairs today...
mine too
trying to find a disc
one that would fn
one to speak volumes
one big enough to save
this system and mine
do not speak fluid languages
but murmur in tongues
across skin and bone
devour or delight at will,
at air
at the very breath of every damn atom
beholden to Einstein
for all this
"spooky action at a distance"
"i need you so much closer..."
echoes from the Death Cab next door
and that's my home
the one with the echo
not here
end poetic befuddlement transmission
| | Paige (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=91.7){kind=small} plumivy) wrote, |
- Mood:
hopeful
start poetic befuddlement transmission
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