whimpering winds
Trying to figure what I'm hearing when all of this simultaneous babble just
becomes my ear's Babel
trying to decipher the bleeding stone
as it replicates itself, knocking repeatedly
on my so called sense of a head, the one
i went to school to fill with rooms where
the ambience was supposedly deft in depth,
but rock bottom is where all the new flags
want to crawl in order to strut their
misgivings. Trying to flag down a working ride
that'll grope me closer through whimpering winds to the fountain of reason, the one they
claim will always sooth your thirst. Tonight the
landing lights work only when they feel like it,
and the lesson book is losing its ability to
adapt to prevailing weather. Go slow up the stairs and get your back and mind worked on. I
stood on line waiting for the word. They said if you don't get the word, every place you
put your feet down will suck you right through. I stood in a fog and the word never
showed. The word hates having to be heard. The word is shy. No room for shy anything
anymore. Let's go stepping out. Let's crawl outside the box. I was born outside the box,
baby. Here comes our lift. We'll be crawling
your way soon, full of edge and fire, full of
empathy and fear. Whimpering Winds in my
cereal. Whimpering Winds blow us a kiss.
---Scott Wannberg
listening to Steve Earle
---Dennis Corp |
