Wednesday, May 14, 2014

from whence i came.

Waiting for the big grey and green airfield to come into view, and my eyes and mind awaken from my golden gutter.
I'm not sure exactly what day it is, or just who I am.
I just know there's a protocol here. I have two bags and I need to funnel in and exit.
There are women here to kiss on the mouth, but none are mine. I'm scared, I'm dressed to the nines,
and there's blood in my boutonniere.
It seems everybody knows to be scared when I'm near, what's their game?
I know you're hiding in this crowd tonight,
after I get up, I get off, I deplane, and I deboard,
I do a lot of other made up verbs, but after I -
disembarked, after I've shuffled through past you,
in this thronging crowd of people drinking, toasting themselves.
You scream out that you dream some day, that it's your game, it's always been,
That you want to go somewhere far away, like from whence I came,
It's a shame to always be afraid, I see you scream. You're wasting your breath.
It's a sad charade, and everybody knows, they know your game. Mine?
I'm not sure just what day it is. I get up. I get off.
Not sure just where I am. I bought a ticket, boarded, embarked.
I took off.

We ascended past the glass ceiling through which I wouldn't ordinarily see,
In which I wouldn't ordinarily see anything but own reflection, sick and tired and sad.

Waiting for the waitress in the tiny grey and green dress to come into view, and my heart and eyes reawaken to my golden gutter.
I'm sure exactly who I am and what it is.
I know the rules, and I don't care to obscure just who I am, it's too dramatic.
This is just brand new extract. The seasons taste exactly the same here, I recall
I count the nights I've been face to face with you, I count down to my next emplaning.
When I know just what to expect, well no one knows each other there, well
Walk on by, they don't give a fuck. I do. I scream out, someday, I scream,
It's not a game anymore, come with me
Far away, the next place is always better, don't be afraid. It's such a shame. A sad charade.
I don't have time for silence, before I
Before I'm not sure just what day it is.
There I go again.
I get up.
Not sure exactly what day it is.
There we go again.
Take off.
Not sure exactly who we are.
There's blood in your corsage, and you just don't care.
They're toasting to us now, and we just don't care.
Not exactly where we are.
Not sure which day.