Saturday, February 7, 2009

you don't matter, courtesy of my love for you is a stampede of horses

music makes its down defense so i don't need interfere with that one,
and my hair looks terrible and so i ignore it and it goes away and i don't need to worry about that one,
i jump not soo high because my still shaky ankle and that holds me back a little, and of course
there's the problem with losing it in large crowds of people which makes it hard for me to dance
but in my bedroom there's just me and nighttime slowly setting in (the way it is when ice melts
or people realize for the first time that they want to kiss someone) and between the two of us
there are no (and haven't ever been) secrets. (she, of course, being the one who read me my dreams out loud while i heard them in my sleep, translated, of course, into soo many things only night knows the language of)

by the way, do you recall that thing from childhood?, i can't think no other word for it but excitement, i have no reason for it other than it's a thing that suddenly turned up in my wallet (in the glove-compartment of my car), (under a crate i keep my underwear in in my wardrobe), (besides my bedside table where there's only a book by Aeschylus, a little vase from a set of two because Martha has the other, and some dirt that reminds me time is always on my side), anyway about this excitement thing that makes coffee a pastime worth looking forward to,
and nighttime an occasion to dance around your bedroom in after showering still in your underwear while glancing unashamedly at yourself in the mirror thinking not bad homey, but still some ways to go, notice the lovehandles still love you more than you them (all the while giggle at your own nonesense) heavier and heavier the blanket of night that once left me soo cold finally has started warming the pupils of my eye i dilate all day and hope my biggest largest eyes will find something sweetest and loveliest to set themselves on so that i may say in all earnestness:

dear wonderful sweetfulest you you You YOU,
kiss me here and now, and dance with me,
and sit quietest besides me so that the night can select your favorite dreams for me to see,
and my favoritest dreams for you to see and even in dream we can make love,
and in defense of myself i have nothing but miscalculation,
so instead i give you...

everything other than i that i can grasp in my two handfuls and against my chest to offer you. here you are, they are yours:

[insert alleverything here]


this piece preceding this was called: saturday night party piece. it was written becasue tonight is a saturday. i don't really have a party to go to, but i'm dancing around my room to Sasha's set from Amnesia (at Ibiza) this year. If that doesn't mean anything to you imagine: orgasm, laughing uncontrolably for 2 hours, orgasm (twice is better than once), sweat sweat sweat, electronic mayem in a factory in space, exorcism.

there may be a bbq with new friends. there may be coffee alone. there may be mexican food and video games. there may be a book and nightlight. there may be any.whichest.wonderfulest thing,
all of which are equally expected because what other option is there than to enjoy the nonesense you've been given and told to spell the word LIFE with?