i sit upon the empty plastic seat
perhaps it's vinyl, i'm not really sure
i try to ignore the details of the mundane
even if it's not.
maybe i'm searching for too much poignancy,
as though that'd make looking back feel worthwhile
like before i sat down.
before i paid with my last drop,
before i walked to the stop.
before this neighborhood became familiar
when it was just some mall with a parking lot
before, when it was mundane and not a bit surreal
before i came here.
before i tried to slowly let myself go,
opening up was like learning to crawl
after years of dancing in the street
and losing track of time
maybe it went still, or went too quickly
he used to say time lost its concept when he was with me
not nearly as cleverly, but seemed to mean it.
so i lost resistance
and somehow now, the trees around this park nearby
all seem to wail, shaking their branches and
throwing away their leaves, as if they're saying
"you disgust me"
yet they're equally as likely to stop and straighten up,
mash the wrinkles out their trunks and pretend it's all right,
that all of this was worthwhile,
if it's just a chance to save a weathered face
i'm in danger of sitting here.
the driver's reading the newspaper on his break
so i sit and i wait. feeling like i've been stuck here
for way too long. it's cold out now. summer's over
so don't keep me here half-naked, yet covered in layers.
i know i'm a glutton for punishment but the sting has stung,
this place is all but new, the trees are gloomy and
the lights outside the doorways say,
this history can't be yours so keep out
crawl your way back to dancing in the street
and as the bus begins to stroll along,
the doorways grow smaller while the lights dim behind.
he was just something pretty to catch the eye.
thank god i'm alive.
the whole concept of movement lets me know i'm
going somewhere, or at least getting away from
that sense of obligation to make something shitty seem
just a little poignant
perhaps it's vinyl, i'm not really sure
i try to ignore the details of the mundane
even if it's not.
maybe i'm searching for too much poignancy,
as though that'd make looking back feel worthwhile
like before i sat down.
before i paid with my last drop,
before i walked to the stop.
before this neighborhood became familiar
when it was just some mall with a parking lot
before, when it was mundane and not a bit surreal
before i came here.
before i tried to slowly let myself go,
opening up was like learning to crawl
after years of dancing in the street
and losing track of time
maybe it went still, or went too quickly
he used to say time lost its concept when he was with me
not nearly as cleverly, but seemed to mean it.
so i lost resistance
and somehow now, the trees around this park nearby
all seem to wail, shaking their branches and
throwing away their leaves, as if they're saying
"you disgust me"
yet they're equally as likely to stop and straighten up,
mash the wrinkles out their trunks and pretend it's all right,
that all of this was worthwhile,
if it's just a chance to save a weathered face
i'm in danger of sitting here.
the driver's reading the newspaper on his break
so i sit and i wait. feeling like i've been stuck here
for way too long. it's cold out now. summer's over
so don't keep me here half-naked, yet covered in layers.
i know i'm a glutton for punishment but the sting has stung,
this place is all but new, the trees are gloomy and
the lights outside the doorways say,
this history can't be yours so keep out
crawl your way back to dancing in the street
and as the bus begins to stroll along,
the doorways grow smaller while the lights dim behind.
he was just something pretty to catch the eye.
thank god i'm alive.
the whole concept of movement lets me know i'm
going somewhere, or at least getting away from
that sense of obligation to make something shitty seem
just a little poignant
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