Wednesday 1/31/2007 12:30:00 AM

Lost in the alarm. galoshes for every toe. I turned to the snow and asked it why it always fell. It told me I was wrong. It didn't fall. It waited to be caught.

There's nothing like the weather to soften your shoes. Wear away some of that tread. Chase away those spare tires we remember as friends. There are far better ways to die than slow like this. But none of those other methods could ever make life so memorable.

If all things must die I want to attend every funeral.

If life is as it seems one stage of forgetting after the next I want to remember. If I'm lost I want to be lost.

Nothing else.

0 comments:


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