I find you in the morning
After dreams of distant signs
You pour yourself over me
Like the sun through the blinds
You lift me up and get me out
Keep me walking but never shout
“Hold the secret close.” I hear you say
You know the way it goes about
It takes you in and spits you out
It spits you out when you desire
To conquer it, to feel you’re higher
To follow it you must be clean
With mistakes that you do mean
Move the heart, switch the pace
Look for what seems out of place.
On and on it goes
Calling like a distant wind
Through the zero hour I will walk
Cut the thick and break the thin
No sound to break, no moment clear
When all the doubts are crystal clear
Crashing hard into the secret wind
You know the way it twists and turns
Changing colors, spinning yarns
You know the way it leaves you dry
It cuts you up and takes you high
You know the way it’s painted gold
Is it honey? Is it gold?
You know the way it goes about
It takes you in, and spits you out.
Cuts you up …
You know the way it goes about
It takes you in and spits you out
It spits you out when you desire
To conquer it, to feel you’re higher
To follow it, you must be clean
With mistakes that you do mean
Move the heart, switch the pace
Look for what seems out of place
Cuts you up
It’s ok, it goes this way
The line is thin, it twists away
Cuts you up and spits you out
Keeps you walking but never shout
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Count Her Clock Why's
2/9/91
What is today?
I would like to ask that question and not be answered with a number. They’re out there - people you can ask, “What is … ?” They’ll just shrug and maybe smile in that sort of bemused way that lends itself to the acknowledgement of … no knowledge … only wonder.
For something to end, does it have to have a beginning? There’s a hesitation - but then, the obvious answer arises.
You do still have the choice to reject it, the obvious answer
that’s limited as a boxed-in day on a calendar.
It isn’t ‘Time’ though - is it? That we talk about at all, or measure? Measuring time - things we can understand - or think we can …
Measurement implies size. Size implies an ending. Those who never tried to tell me “how much” they loved me … they are perhaps the people who understood the word.
time in my eye - scratching there. Cruelty in it because time crushes ‘it’ out of us - though it’s not Time really - just our stupid misused, highly erroneous measurements of
It.
Is.
If you look up either of those words in the dictionary, neither has a very long definition. I’m not sure if that reflects how enormously language fails us - or our laziness - or fear - or lack of depth in care full thinking. Maybe it’s all of these and maybe they’re all the same thing at different angles.
I could accept a question mark. Anything more than that should be a lot more - and messy - and precarious. But the dictionary,
it is
not like that.
First time, then clocks to measure time, then
dollars to measure clocks. They have faces - that’s what we call them. Where are the eyes? The mouth?
i am a number there - a hand just brushed over me and neither of us
felt any thing.
Nothing.
i am
A number there and
You are late. I understand you gotta hurry but, by this time, doesn’t everyone
know better than to chase the white rabbit?
No good can possibly come from chasing time
while it tries to catch up
with itself.
When you retire, you’ll likely be given an expensive watch.
That’s customary. You can watch yourself with time on your hands running out of time flying or …
why? Why do they do that?
None of the clocks in my house are correct. I set them wrong or let them run down.
It’s sort of a promise I made to myself. I’m not late, I just …
Disagree. It’s a rudeness of mine I know.
I don’t like to be rude - it’s not my intent, so I really try not to ever be expected anywhere .
Makes it easier on all the mad hatter’s and white rabbits concerned … sort of.
If I were to dance down the street - even if I danced very well, just because I really needed to (which is a very good reason, I think).
I’d be in the way of ‘Hurry.’
How to measure worth
If it has a beginning,
We will end it.
We have imposed our mortal intellect in all its finitude on too much of eternity
by arguing about our limitlessness.
I don’t want to argue.
I just want someone to shrug and smile with.
What is today?
I would like to ask that question and not be answered with a number. They’re out there - people you can ask, “What is … ?” They’ll just shrug and maybe smile in that sort of bemused way that lends itself to the acknowledgement of … no knowledge … only wonder.
For something to end, does it have to have a beginning? There’s a hesitation - but then, the obvious answer arises.
You do still have the choice to reject it, the obvious answer
that’s limited as a boxed-in day on a calendar.
It isn’t ‘Time’ though - is it? That we talk about at all, or measure? Measuring time - things we can understand - or think we can …
Measurement implies size. Size implies an ending. Those who never tried to tell me “how much” they loved me … they are perhaps the people who understood the word.
time in my eye - scratching there. Cruelty in it because time crushes ‘it’ out of us - though it’s not Time really - just our stupid misused, highly erroneous measurements of
It.
Is.
If you look up either of those words in the dictionary, neither has a very long definition. I’m not sure if that reflects how enormously language fails us - or our laziness - or fear - or lack of depth in care full thinking. Maybe it’s all of these and maybe they’re all the same thing at different angles.
I could accept a question mark. Anything more than that should be a lot more - and messy - and precarious. But the dictionary,
it is
not like that.
First time, then clocks to measure time, then
dollars to measure clocks. They have faces - that’s what we call them. Where are the eyes? The mouth?
i am a number there - a hand just brushed over me and neither of us
felt any thing.
Nothing.
i am
A number there and
You are late. I understand you gotta hurry but, by this time, doesn’t everyone
know better than to chase the white rabbit?
No good can possibly come from chasing time
while it tries to catch up
with itself.
When you retire, you’ll likely be given an expensive watch.
That’s customary. You can watch yourself with time on your hands running out of time flying or …
why? Why do they do that?
None of the clocks in my house are correct. I set them wrong or let them run down.
It’s sort of a promise I made to myself. I’m not late, I just …
Disagree. It’s a rudeness of mine I know.
I don’t like to be rude - it’s not my intent, so I really try not to ever be expected anywhere .
Makes it easier on all the mad hatter’s and white rabbits concerned … sort of.
If I were to dance down the street - even if I danced very well, just because I really needed to (which is a very good reason, I think).
I’d be in the way of ‘Hurry.’
How to measure worth
If it has a beginning,
We will end it.
We have imposed our mortal intellect in all its finitude on too much of eternity
by arguing about our limitlessness.
I don’t want to argue.
I just want someone to shrug and smile with.
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