Saturday, October 24, 2009

Trance is the motion


Haltingly progressing forward we lurch
Into a parking area packed with
Obviously cherished vehicles which starkly contrast with my own;
The failing sunlight belies the haste we must make
Crossing four lanes of California traffic
In time to rendezvous with our old friend gravity

We talk like we drive
We're moving. We're staying. We might be; perhaps not.
Maps are drawn up and set to flame all in the same turn

So many avenues explored
As memory lapses and she forgets her shoes
I climb alone
At times with polite observers
I am higher than I'd like to be
With diminishing options for retreat
I brace myself to be acquainted with the stone in a most disagreeable manner
My predicament crystallizes the sounds of aloof distraction below
A strangers dog is enjoying my water and no one notices
Im about to pitch

Too much abstraction can be a bad thing
Here is me flailing on a project as Christie looks on.

A very unique area
Smooth rock which plays on taught nerves
Cinched down like piano wire
Making your hands sweat all the way back home.

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