Tuesday, January 5, 2010

the mysterious sounds of skeletons

here's to that. it's important. writing on walls that aren't ours. keeping out of cornfields because they are sprayed with ***** that we don't want on our bodies. trying to count but being constantly interrupted by how many there are. listening to carl sagan, getting stoned, and realizing that he talks just like a muppet. reading fantasy novels for hours in the bathroom because sometimes you forget where you are. never changing the strings on your guitar. wearing your booth when you know there'll be puddles. using your fingers and your toes. wanting badly to discover a cave in your backyard.

i am a battlefield archaeologist. i specialize in the ancient wars kindled by beauty and killed by ingenuity.

i am a thick-skinned arborist. i tie myself to trees i like, and in turn i get all sticky with sap.

i am an under-the-bed astronaut. in that great unexplored space i find wormhole socks and clusters of galaxies.

i am a foul-mouthed writer of children's books. if their parents knew what words didn't make the cut, they wouldn't be able to stop laughing.

i am a cold river rope swing. my braided body holds you up in the sky, but if you don't let go you'll crash back to earth.

i am not much. just a little bit of everything. just like you.

2 comments:

momma sue said...

You are way more than anyone knows....it will happen!

Laura said...

I like it... a lot. As far as what you might find under your be, I remember cleaning your room, you never know