malenky devotchka

Bella Morte
2004-04-02 18:39:18 (UTC)

puckish nights

don't you just love the rain? i know i've
mentioned this
before, in past lives
and rosy bulbs, my love for the rain,
but this goes without saying, its a
beautiful cleansing, and
so dusty are these days they gulped it down in torrents.
torrents yes,
like torrents of words that race from mouth to
mouth, stop them!
hooray for silence and all its
antiquities, so lost are the days of grim and faerie tales
tell no one anymore,
rooted in darkness they say. but alas,
my night as a rain soaked mop waltzing around
like no one in
particular, looking a terrible mess with her hair in a
ponytail and
makeup running away to join the puddles.
no, it was wonderful, and full of wonder,
don't you adore all that?
i can't say i care right now one way or
another. i'm alw ays so serious and never remember i have to
stop and breathe.
my poor shoes full of holes held all the
water they could and i ran around
sloshing in puddles,

ankle deep and sighing, shivering cold but happy.
so unexpected a delight
as the morning clouded over
like the moors whispering of a faraway island where small
people have
accents and wear funny shoes and they dance through my
dreams full of pixies and
styx
and callico hats full of
silences worth listening to...
and i was just there, clutching
my little glass
trying to catch the rain and lighting and bottle the
thunder for a later date
but they were yelling, trampling
and i was gripping my little glass
i'm surprised i lasted so long
but my little glass,
clutched tight in
my little fist,
hiding somewhere,
in the narrow hallway between shadows
and fear, it fell...
i know others had far worser,
yes! worser a night than i,
spent bent back and coughing the
remains of meal
still churning... poor soul is he that stood
to stare at himself in various
shades of morose and spit... i'm sorry.




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