turn on the bright lights

MyGen Profile Generator******************** No you haven't missed a thing, There was a terrible storm, And you were wearing all our coats ******************** A wonderfull, wise man once said... "THE BLUR OF TIME WILL MAKE THESE ACHY DAYS VAGUE AND INSIGNIFICANT"**These are selfish times with the pretty plus ones ignoring you. I don't know you. I’m below you. Don’t encourage the wind; the candles the candles the candles will retire. Something about this is clowns with knives. SOMETHING ABOUT THIS. There are very few microwaves in the third world...a bag of money hanging from your ankle? Against a blue sky, almost anything looks cinematic. And so I freestyle , freestyle and keep myself inanimate, Limbs extended. And you were so excited yesterday...but could your anger be mapped into an interpretive dance to a triptriphiphop track could it be bowed out on strings or strung into a pattern - chaos at the surface means chaos (at the surface). means a complex structure underneath. Holding hands loose gripped at the deja vu dream scene end of a lifelong relationship. These light leaves is my hair on the bathroom floor, my smaller selves down the sewer somewhere. There's no mound of clouds to lounge on. My dad wore this face in old photographs -looks like a sky for shoeing horses under. Someone's spilled a bag of freedom - thinking - listening, for the hoofs of the rescue party. Remind us what we meant to say now these empty breaths reflect the feedback of headlights EMPTY FEEDBACK. Rain is confession weather - howling a paper moon. Just a slight jangle of pocket change pulsing. oh i've stayed scarce this last year yes this must be more revealing than the sound of high heels down the marble tile hallways I'm not thrilled about anything...anything at all...(My face was just a smear on the page) -a crowd of people swimming from a sinking ship- a wreck on the highway…-not dust yet and I'm not fog , an old fish bowl for a tear trap. Turn on the high beams I don't want to dance with your shadow no more When i see you face-to-face simple on the surface, means the deja vu dream scene END*until the hankerchief of history covers us with its times new roman black and white post script, i will wear lavender shirts in yellow painted public restrooms, looking like art decco in my september complexion and red against blue skies, and have those pictures taken to be proof, we distributed the seeds of dead dandilions in the cement surrounded city parts, that we let our skin soak up the sun despite the advice of modern science, that we sometimes wore our hair long and let it curl and never combed it or put it in braids, that we taught ourselves to play the pots and pans so that we would have something honest to dance to, something soulful to sing to, and sometimes we had trouble seeing past our own reflections in the bedroom window, because it was dark outside, and the flourescents inside left shadows under our chests and sculpted the torso to look it's friday night fittest, there was light here before there wasn't, and before that there wasn't, but seagulls still ate shallow water fish, morning boys still cast tall shadows and all the while the stars are slowly seperating.*