they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

act 1, scene 1.

In the distance
the moon dances to the hum of the wind
and each tree becomes
a silhouetted soldier
outfitted in black fatigues —
the swat team of the night.

And this well-coordinated effort
never cancels its tour.
The playbill is there for the taking as
it dazzles the horizon today
and tomorrow
and forever, really.
But I —
I seldom
take time
to
notice.

Only tonight, I unwrap this gift,
this one-act play,
and as I sit and watch,
a captive audience, I remain
until the moon is suspended high in the heavens
and the sky is the color of tar —
dark enough to erase the steady soldiers from sight
until dawn
when they reappear
to greet the day with a sleepy-eyed encore.

4 Comments:

  • At 2:27 PM, Blogger emawkc said…

    maybe "to greet the day..."?

     
  • At 9:17 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    i catch the beauty. most romantic and known, perfect. brings me back to the joys of watching the trees sway, the wind dancing over the tops,a perfect rythum only shared by the wind and tree. love this.

     
  • At 5:49 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    crap, crap, and more crap.

     
  • At 7:02 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    dear crapnonymous,

    if u have a suggestion, something that in your mind would make these words you call crap something u could enjoy, please share. otherwise, and i think i speak for 99.99% of pensive girl readers, please shut the fuck up.

    thanks :)

     

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