Alone In The Tourist Season ===================
Some days the rain wakes you up with the sound of fat june bugs crawling on their backs, trying to get on their legs, for hours. They're terrible, and I sit there leaping with fear because they are the monsters you dreamed of and I walk away, leaving it for my cat to devour, not knowing where that leaves my soul, black or white, or gray, and you have got to wonder sometimes if there is such a thing as gray. Why not bright blue? Or crimson, like the sky on the way home tonight, windows cracked and the breeze from the sea chilling heat visible on the hood; and the music is perfect just until the driveway; with the small roads winding underneath the shade of pines pink beyond the edges and the smell of whatever that is honey pollen blends of evergreen. Awww yeah, motherfucker. This is the thread we hang on, after all. Between the too-slow pound of wings on crispy beetles against the screens and the subtle hum of crickets their thermometer symphonics testing the only useful bit of math I'd ever know. Between the pollen and the pine and the maple trees dripping nectar for the bears and for the pancakes; and the tourists in the streets with dirty looks and trails of garbage. You are my eyelash in the syrup. I cannot touch you with these fingers but I know you are a piece of me set free- you pop up in the coffee, every sip of lemonade, and I know you are there, a former piece of me gone lingering in sweetness behind glass. -e. _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
