Tuesday 9/12/2006 12:07:00 AM

I don't know the anchor from the oar. The moon from the sun. They all look the same. Digging the dirt up to go further into nowhere. Shaky fingers braiding my hair into knots that never come undone.

It starts out as just a strand.

The streets chug with life. Everyone going somewhere. Or else trying to look like they are. The phone chimes. I don't answer. Those waves have already broken. Not asking anymore. Just admitting the moment's been taken.

The hours. The darkness always promises to change us. But it never does. We remain the same empty bottles we've always left for someone else to find.

Trying to extract meaning from the most unlikely of friends. Drowning in goosebumps that don't last.

Wishing we had some control over the moments that've made us who we are.

Right turns. Or wrong ones. We still end up where we were going.

0 comments:


| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.