Friday, February 12, 2010
Flood the basement where I dwell. Fill my ears with cotton. I say, you say, I write, you read. Stop in your steps, sink your feet into your shoes like feet on a beach the tide eats away. Remember when things were good, remember memories so far and so foreign. I call you, flutter and fall, dusty and wore, a face of the times; of times long gone. I linger on a song; a feeling, a goose pimple on a flat rough surface. I examine my skin, you once were smooth, a baby before the scratches. Time after time, all is the same, new faces come, old faces they turn, and what is fresh is fragments and gestures of historical figures, cave-drawings, doodles and Rorschach. Tie down for now, and a moment is made, a memory is filled, and is lost. Flutter, fly, dusty wings of a house fill with memories.