The dusk tastes of gravity and despair, so far into the depths of gray buried in the bright blue vanishing horizon. Wake with the moon, watch all the streets in a fading fever dream, feel the slow dissolution of your grasp spilling from your fingers. Everything so like a song, old David Bowie, traces of The Knux. The threadbare whispers of native tongue assimilating with the staggered and the strange. Change the only collection, the final constant.
Weary motion, dragged chains and bridal tides, these abrupt conversations, the skirmishes and border wars. A lifetime spent in the patois of changing definitions until everyone you know is another country, an alien world. Memories that hiss and skip like the vinyl that hums through your blood, the record ends with yet another frontier. You pass the plate at each service, gathering only more requests. Soon you only sing in translation, your heart remaindered to liner notes no-one bothers even to read. Dust in the needle, heaven awash with abrupt and forgotten stars.
Weary motion, dragged chains and bridal tides, these abrupt conversations, the skirmishes and border wars. A lifetime spent in the patois of changing definitions until everyone you know is another country, an alien world. Memories that hiss and skip like the vinyl that hums through your blood, the record ends with yet another frontier. You pass the plate at each service, gathering only more requests. Soon you only sing in translation, your heart remaindered to liner notes no-one bothers even to read. Dust in the needle, heaven awash with abrupt and forgotten stars.
daim:
You are a man of beautiful words