curbdrop out of grace

hustle slow

the cigarettes resting in the cracks. count them. one two fuck. too much. too much laziness, too much indifference. why does it matter. count them and the next day for better or for worse, in sickness or in health, there's another cuddling in the shade of foresakeness.

when rain hits the earth, it momentarily makes a divet. interesting. is it breaking ground or is the earth opening up it's arms to welcome sweet nurishment.

the sound a familiar wetness. i can feel it in my bones. it's more comforting than a hello, although i know both will greet me when i sleep.

i wonder, is boredom often mistaken for sadness? yes the correlation exists between lonliness and boredom, but what if really one man's emotion can be another man's demon? confusion. some sort of mixed up wires when god made you. a defect that wasn't meant to reach store shelves. by too late now for a recall for the damage is done.

tiny purples in a casket of orange. the label means nothing. any translation would do no justice for the songs that they sing. hummmmmmmm along. as grande seas wash them away.

funny how it just floats by unseen. the only ghost that really exists, and yes, it does indeed haunt. just a blur. like the yellow marking passing lanes at speeds meant to kill. blur all the edges and the square melts to a circle. days are replaced with receipts that reference the only difference. big mac tuesday. bucket of chicken wedsnesday.

and the carefully placed creaks of footsteps on tired stairs. one door and a dozen keys. inside is the stale smell of rest. down down then hall. and then bliss.

posted by fillshe @ 10:51 PM