the cafe was never going to be as good as it was when i found it the first time, like every other cafe, it becomes to full, and no one remembers what happened there the day before. i'm trying to get clear of it, and right when the building disappears in my rear view mirror, my bag of magic breaks loose from the back of the bike and goes tumbling into a neverworld, and i'm alone again, but only long enough to pull off and say fuckall to the trucks who come careening toward my back and turn around.
this isn't the first time i had to turn around, not here, not in this place, but it is the first time i got to find something that i lost. magic bag strapped back on the back, and i'm heading full speed into the sides of the mountains ahead, once again. the world is covered with anxious glitter, it's another show about androgyny, and all the performers are nervous because we know we're being watched. this place in between, it's not a nice place this time.
in my bag, i have lists of things i'm supposed to do, and things i'm not supposed to do. so far, this is working. and i'm heading back into the mountains, and on the other side is the sea, and when i get there, i might have time to get used to being in love. when i get there, i might have the chance to sort out the things that i can see from the things that are still buried under the rocks in the river where i opened up my heart so that it could be loosened up from the roots to the graveyard. when i get there, i might have a chance to know what i'm supposed to know through my tongue and through my fingers. my short thumb is burning, and my palms are growing harder with these miles. and my chest is strong, but pulsing with the movements of the same bird that always shivers right before it gets cold.
if you found me, still as a statue and covered with chalk and salt, would you cover me with your tongue until i came back to life again? if you found me, at the foot of your bed, blue and sleeping and covered with seaweed and sand, would you still have room for me? and if you found me, making tea from the roots i find in the graveyard, would you stay for a night, even though the dogs were hungry at home? and what if we remembered who we were, that we were hungry, that the salt on our tongues from a year could crack open and flake off, salt crystals for the windows to bring the spring back inside, even now, during a new moon, when all the sirens are gathering outside the window, waiting to blow us awake in a million directions, shaking the bells around their ankles and necks, calling us to eat?
this isn't the first time i had to turn around, not here, not in this place, but it is the first time i got to find something that i lost. magic bag strapped back on the back, and i'm heading full speed into the sides of the mountains ahead, once again. the world is covered with anxious glitter, it's another show about androgyny, and all the performers are nervous because we know we're being watched. this place in between, it's not a nice place this time.
in my bag, i have lists of things i'm supposed to do, and things i'm not supposed to do. so far, this is working. and i'm heading back into the mountains, and on the other side is the sea, and when i get there, i might have time to get used to being in love. when i get there, i might have the chance to sort out the things that i can see from the things that are still buried under the rocks in the river where i opened up my heart so that it could be loosened up from the roots to the graveyard. when i get there, i might have a chance to know what i'm supposed to know through my tongue and through my fingers. my short thumb is burning, and my palms are growing harder with these miles. and my chest is strong, but pulsing with the movements of the same bird that always shivers right before it gets cold.
if you found me, still as a statue and covered with chalk and salt, would you cover me with your tongue until i came back to life again? if you found me, at the foot of your bed, blue and sleeping and covered with seaweed and sand, would you still have room for me? and if you found me, making tea from the roots i find in the graveyard, would you stay for a night, even though the dogs were hungry at home? and what if we remembered who we were, that we were hungry, that the salt on our tongues from a year could crack open and flake off, salt crystals for the windows to bring the spring back inside, even now, during a new moon, when all the sirens are gathering outside the window, waiting to blow us awake in a million directions, shaking the bells around their ankles and necks, calling us to eat?
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