The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Monday, September 15, 2008

sky, blue sky



Oh, the band marched on in formation
The brass was phasing tunes I couldn’t place
Windows open and raining in
Maroon, yellow, blue, gold and gray

The drunks were ricocheting
The old buildings downtown
Empty so long ago
Windows broken and dreaming
So happy to leave what was my home


With a sky blue sky
This rotten time
Wouldn’t seem so bad to me now
Oh, I didn’t die
I should be satisfied
I survived
That's good enough for now


With a sky blue sky
This rotten time
Wouldn’t seem so bad to me now
Oh, if I didn’t die
I should be satisfied
I survived
That's good enough for now
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