walked to work this morning for the shifting of the blessed books filled with images of skin flaps and mesentery...there's lots of turbulence in those pages.
past the mirror-faced reservior reflecting a shy sun and holding onto geesefeet as they paddle their little bodies a long long way...
it's my down time. i always pass up the ride. it's my down time to think about how beautiful the moon looked last night to the man down in texas and the woman up north...
i wonder what the world looks like to you today. will you push the curtains off to one side and get past, ms. bitterness? will you place your hands in pockets, dig them deep, hoping to leave the urge to wring someone's neck tangled in the cotton thread? will you stand there tight-lipped, holding a dam's worth of words that aim to flatten but only show just how flattened you really are?
a beautiful man is a beautiful man is a beautiful man. part of what makes him beautiful is how he spills his unedited life like a little boy emptying his toy filled pockets. out comes the jacknife, the rabbit's foot...out comes the superball, and the crumpled up dollar bill the tooth fairy gave him. out comes the dead butterfly wrapped up in waxpaper, the nuts he feeds to squirrels...out comes the pink button that fell off mom's favorite shirt...
shine on beautiful man, shine on...