mastodons came runnin'

she said, "open your eyes."
she crawled on rooftops beneath a night sky that was foreign to her.
only sprinkles of stars.
she's used to a glow.
spine stretched with her head palmed in her hands.
"don't you ever just lay here?"
well why don't you just let me stay here?

caught between bridges

In the interest of time, I am here, under the bridge. The stampeding trains and trucks up above is distracting. People come here to be themselves. To sit angelically in the center of a patch of grass like polished porcelain. Always indian style. Never approachable. Never liquid.
We sit and stare out, eyes pried, directed towards that city. This city is my home. This is always what I wanted to do with numbers 1-12 clockwise. But it is also between the confines of solidarity and a hard place. Everybody is trying to be somebody. I am trying to be everybody.
Lens' hanging from the napes of necks, snapping spilt splices of time into a single frame. A glimpse to remember. Tripods and lens'. Lovers and daisy's. Hands tied.
What my problem is I store words for later. For later they will be there, snuggled up against neurons, making love to firing synapses. The truth is they can't be locked up for later. I am here - I am now - it is the only way.
I am caught between two bridges and surrounded by mountains of love. And me, well, I am impending doom.
A chill feels flow over my skin strokes and cracks bad jokes.
There is love tied to the ends of dog leashes and there are hands pieced like puzzles. The 10,000 piece kind.
You can take this literally. You can take me lightly, far away to a cloud. To a cloud that isn't just transparent white air.
I am here to have my picture taken by the blink of an eye. And it's odd because it always feels like I've been here before.
Even the indentations of leaves of grass on elbows and the backs of knees feels redundant.