sábado, 19 de diciembre de 2009

With the riptide..

I feel like listening to Dylan for a year or two
Stay in bed, wait till noon..
Then maybe look for the sunset, somewhere in my room..
Too lazy to move.. let’s put Tangled up in Blue…
If it works.. I’ll think of you..
Wonderin where you went..
Maybe the Chelsea Hotel?
Can’t think of Leo while Bob is on..
Harmonica and all..
Not electric yet.. just the right way..
Then he'll get old.. burst my brain...
Who ever said that only young men have great thoughts?
Roll over.. let the bad thoughts fall..
If they’re still on my bed.. maybe
I’ll crush them like the ants who like to steal crumbs..
Did that when I was a kid.. it wasn’t that much fun…
Stare at the 4 walls.. pretend it’s an odd number.. or everything will get ugly..
Until the next song comes on…
Like waiting for the stripper you love...
Or that kiss you can't have...
Longing makes me crazy..
Gives my imagination extra hours at the job.
Of keeping me alive..
What’s the matter with no love at all?
When it’s gone it’s gone..
If not.. it must be around here .. under the bed perhaps?
Or will the old monsters still be there..
hoping time went back and I’m scared..
Nothing is scaring me right now.. too relaxed to think about that..
Is my hand asleep? Will she open the door?
Who is she anyway?
Keep thinking it’s someone I know..
4 beers … 2 joints.. can’t think of sex when I haven’t met you yet…
Stopped asking people what they think years ago..
I’m too alone to know anyone anyhow..
I wonder where did everything go..
But I can’t open my closet..
Too much junk would fall…
All those fights..
And that special yet hated drawer..
Where I store all the words that I never said…
Maybe if I had opened my mouth.... I wouldn’t be writing at all.
Who knows? Not the voices near the right wall..
That die in the left.. over the echo..
Cold creeps through the open space right under the door..
You won’t get me.. I’m covered all the way up over my head..
Now I have the bed all for myself..
It’s a drag to make…
When the ship comes in, it won’t see me..
Miss the sea, miss the rain…
the one that doesn’t freeze your ass when it hits you on the back..
Spending time with my future like it’s the present’s a gift…
No howling at the moon , it’s too soon…
I rather go to bed, oh wait.. then what will I do?
Remember baseball games, plan a trip to Peru…
Or I’ll just smell my room… of pot and you
Talk to some of my ghosts…. even the ones without the shadows
or watch a film or two… no Pacino or DeNiro..
One that nobody's seen... so I won't have to listen to opinions..
I'm done arguing.. and
Dylan won't last forever, it’s too cold to take a walk..
Perhaps I could in NY... too far.
Maybe I’ll just stay right here.. since, this moment took too long to arrive.

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