2004-06-28 - 1:06 a.m.
you can't move
you can't stay.. you can't be here today.
but you have to. window panes at night
burn all the grass on the fields
sometimes my keyboard isn't ready.. sometimes my keyboard doesn't have the capacity to work under these conditions..
Harry Lime.. there are blossoms.. white sketched blossoms with distinct lines
sometimes
this is the
this it has become
and become more and more
a day and its vow
i'm not her song, i'm not anymore. on bicycles of green leaves and unripe wind-bent branches filled with sap.
she makes me shiver in white aged moonlight.. she makes me pause at the corners and hours of midnight
and comfort is cancer, the strength of our wheat not dirtied by the restful arms of sleep.. who sway less and less
she is jubilant
oh
you ducks, bring an unexpected burden from love flocks
take the heart of me away in a cardboard box.
my feelings
they are not working
i'm a broken cuckoo clock
