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These summer days are winding down, and all I have left are scraps
that fill my mind. Pictures, and candles, and sand between my toes,
and it was only a few months ago I was leading the way for the easter
eggs..at least now I can count to three. |
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By morning my father digs bathtubs on the beach, while I look at the
pelicans sky diving thru the sun. Nights filled with fires and rockets
pound as I walk along the darkness with my plastic lantern. Maybe
i'll dig a hole to china, and then climb inside to hide from the sand
dwellers...until the waves crash, and I go running as naked as the
day I was born. |
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I share with my opposite a common history, and in our faces you see
all that was once before. But that does not concern us, instead we
immerse ourselves in the innocence of not knowing. And pride ourselves
in the ways we can manipulate all that is temporary. Water flows from
our fingertips, and no deep wood is far from our reach. |
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Today my life is transient, my spirit possesed by the motions of wheels
on endless roads, my body carried by the one who wills it. Remembering
your home, and many things that have become you, but the views are
nice up here. But only for a few days, then back to the south, and
the familiar greens of pennsylvania. |
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This wasn't his idea. In the fall we dress up and play in our big
new rooms, at night the sounds of my fathers guitar, and traveling
a few mimutes down the road to visit the ancestors. This is the life,
but the ears, that wasn't my idea. |
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No more buckets, a tub of my own, and surrounded by trees. The air
is sweet, the nights are long and quiet, gone are the urban rumbling
of walls, and in the morning a deer comes to eat. |
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Finding better times next too pigeon shacks and winding highways.
First views of the city skyline, surrounded by friends. Making concrete
gardens, and happy to be hanging by the ends of worn down links. Though
it all changes when the sky fell down, and we looked again to the
west, and peace, and change. |
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Rooms filled with plastered paint, and brownstones seen from top floor
windows. Many long walks home from rusted trains down 9th street until
the day. Playing at life, my mother says, my world a small instance
able to be set in the smallest of places. |
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Surrounded by familiarity, and so many strange things still. The leaves
fall and the winds get chill. Now the world is changing, with each
passing cloud my mind awakens, and I can see more then I did yesterday. |
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How little did we know what life had in store for us, and how things
would change. But the ancient mysteries took a hold of me, and from
the slightest winks came thunderous rains crashing down upon us. And
when the last drops fell, a flower emerged to claim his place in the
sun. |
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