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Array
(
[sid] => 67613
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => such things to be counted on...
[time] => 2004-10-15 21:19:01
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => six... five... four... three... to land in the centre of a living room, belly-down and beautiful maybe - skin peeled back revealing the things the mirror missed the morning before... a vinyl disc spins (desperately), the melodies crawl up the base of my spine, my head - turned toward an open window and i think i've got a long way home... child-like and alone, i look for the philosophy - haven't we all got a long walk home? my shoes are torn, no laces, but what with the thousands of miles left beneath them, my legs - eternally tired, but this time i'll make no mention of my thighs... riding a tilt-a-whirl of phonelines, nauseous and well-aquainted w/ the dial tone as it lends a hand extended, in the event i need assistance stepping off, feet hitting the ground... i think thoughts like rain, jukebox and telephone ring, timeslip lying still on a cold kitchen tile as if to clock me in to this side of town... cradling the shadows of tall buildings - my friends are gone... and in my ear - the definite hum of michelin tires on an east-bound high way... i think of her bald head and tattooed shoulders, hands on the steering wheel, his hands - chain-linked to a child in tears nine hours away from where they are going, still they are going, nonetheless, and some may say that counts for something... one... two... three... four-thirty in the afternoon - i think of deep breath, lungs full of river water, whiskey and cigarette smoke, stumbling onto cracked sidewalks in search of wish-fulfillment... fantasies relived from the back of a volkswagen, pasting magazine articles along backroads twisted and welcoming, i think of you... the woman in me - curled into wet dreams of road signs and western horizons, human bodies outlined in the white chalk of poem-skin, if only words could be caught and snared, if only then - could this be justified... i think thoughts like stains on jacket sleeves, these days ascended over days and slow hours, reflecting faces in passing mournful cafe - candlelight vigils, bringing back memories of spring destroyed by a silver spoon... the 3rd... the 2nd... the 1st of april, when riotous lovemaking beneath musty blankets erupted into a silent sky... they found the needle when they pulled her from the bathroom - strange men in blue uniforms asking the wrong questions at the wrong time, but was there ever a right time? a time to say stay... a time to say go... but most of my friends have gone... gone home to count sheep - one two three four five sometimes six never seven, nothing sacred anymore, somehow precious at this, tho none of these moments to be taken for granted... spent lying on stiff floors, laughing... metamorphosizing... weaving together the thread of new awakening... the rebirth of once i was a child, now i'm not anymore... what's with the suspense? why should i be surprised?... one foot on top of the other, i walk... i think thoughts like rain, and they come - rushing in to make amends with me... [comments] => 2 [counter] => 159 [topic] => 25 [informant] => metro [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => MiscPoems )
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