Saturday, December 05, 2009

to live is...

on top of the world
or something big, anyway
I sit by the window
and my fingertips crawl
on cold glass
you’re on the other side
but most of the time you’re not
and my fingertips carry on crawling
minute by minute
another hour
most days

riding this black stallion I am
unable to be stopped
and there’s
no peace embracing my thighs
his harness digging through flesh
keep riding
I say to myself
and let this wind show you mercy
blowing the hair of your troubled face
keep riding
and let this rain wash the burning desert
of your lips
and I ride
this stallion into the horizon and beyond
minute by minute
another hour
most days

sitting by the window
fingertips crawling on cold glass
people are staring through
let them

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