Wednesday, July 13, 2011

and then we stopped wearing watches

and then we stopped wearing watches

"This will hurt," Dan to Alice Ayers/Jane Rachel Jones in Closer

do people ever really tap dance
spontaneously while walking down the street
taps sparking against the concrete

or break into song
the words echoing off brick walls
and windows taller than people

do they ever really move along in slow motion
meeting eyes as if designed by god
knowing love like a sudden smile—

or do they simply

sit curled in their maroon chairs
or lie fetal in their single beds

alone and all alone
except for pillows sheets and blankets

hoping to find someone
(but not anyone)
whose scent lingers on those sheets

who longs to feel

their bare feet against a familiar leg
and misses that breathlessly when apart. . .

a tap dance or song
can never cover deception

the smudge of soot that is deception

self-serving remnants of the smoldering fire
sparked by selfishness rubbing against narcissism

flames fanned by words shouted in anger
words like shattered panes of glass
no one can walk across bloodlessly

and no one can wipe away

no one

no one can wipe away
those dark tears dried on the cheek you turned to face it all

in time. . .

No comments:

Post a Comment