we stood on a brooklynrooftop and aimed high. we shot the sun and watched it fall. a sad and holy glow streaming off of every single southern facade in the city made by men made by god. one hundred thousand steps from here to there, a thousand miles, a thousand faces, a million trees.
I returned to where they laid joseph's body. the coat from his father now the ground, every thread a tree and shining colors fit for a prince among twelve brothers.
what's your favorite thing about the holy scriptures? they asked in unison as foreign tongues and foreign feet beat the air and, and, ground above a flooded plaster ceiling.
that they are holy. and that you are asking.
and what about words you'll never say? which ones are those?
_____________, _____, _______, and, __________. I will never say these words.
It's snowing in westvirginia and the city that never sleeps is still never sleeping and the band that played the final note as Doug and I walked through those cardboard trees and linen art gallery leaves are back in their beds (SF and FL, respectively) and you are around bonfires and on the back porches of a snowy mountaintop and at home and at the other end of a telephone line and I will be home tomorrow or some day after that one.
2 comments:
"1. I dropped out of a college ballet class because I didn’t like listening to the talking of the girl who gave me a ride home."
what did she talk about? or did she just talk a lot?
=]
what about the band that you bought drinks for and in return that took you to a different level? fuck that other band.
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