Feb 15 2006
the icestormi wake, start uprightthe icestorm
breath catching in
the morning halflight one two three times—no
no, i lie
here warm, skin pressing my eyes open to hold down my tongue
and stop foreign words from filling this
alien air. that is my true waking: no pretense
except my silence where freedom would have woke and spoken, greeted
blue sheets and girdled down and the unknown: immediate
intimate but still
and unfamiliar. unreal.
it steals my air, this speed
enough to fill a year of standing freezef
Where to Play?The nuclear blast ripped through Wembley Stadium, shattering steel girders like toothpicks and melting human flesh like butter. Ringo's head smashed into the concrete as the scorching air roared over him. It had been a pretty good day until this had happened.Where to Play?
Earlier, the make up artists and costumers had descended on the four of them like a flock of gnats. A touch-up here, a snip there. Mr. Wesely, clothed in a pin-stripe suit, was calmly standing by the door of the dressing room, watching the talent coordinator of PeaceAid 3 hop around like an insane monkey.
"We've only got 10 minutes!" she howled. "Get the hair
Wall StoriesI thought I was standing infront of a door But it turned out to be a wall Unchanging, Imovable, Unyielding. I can paint your picture on it But you will never kiss back, No matter how hard I close my eyes. Blow after blow with my hammer Won't get through to you. You just hit back much harder, Underneath my surface. My frame is fine But you've cracked the foundation countless times Only to make your bed in another house. Leaving me caressing the wall With paintbrush in hand Once again.Wall Stories
And everyone must breathe/Until their dying breath
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Shouldn't we all just stop and take life a little bit slower;
we have missed so much already.
-Ark
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