chasing dreams and seagulls Freckles dusting pale cheeks. Sun-stricken and laughing. Long grass and sand strewn in your oh-so-blue eyes. The radio, speaking in the stattico voices of seagulls. A shirt, adrift in the water; these hidden things untold and so easily forgotten.But whywhywhy, you ask. Never you mind, baby. You. A child, with the voices speaking in those ears and laughter bright on just-so cherub lips. Innocence and chasing beautifulhopelesshappy spinning-in-your-eyes bubble dreams, next moment flash. Like your voice, but I remember.Words left unsaid, the places
of knives and whitecoats. They follow, quaint memories that grasp at your wrists and at the hem of your dress. I miss you, they say, but those blank eyes won't ever meet yours, and lips form meaningless nothings at the mention of your name. Say sorry, turn away, and turn again. I never knew you, but if I could see through his eyes for but one moment, I know - it would be faded pink and roses, and butterflies in the shape of your smile. Sometimes I wish for a god. Not for me, not for the world, not for life or good or desolate dreams unfinished. But because maybe then, just maybe, I could tell him: she's happy
this is the way we dance They're out there; those zombies with your eyes. Pink stains on the tablecloth. He - or it it you, today? - waiting in the doorway shivering and crying and ohwon'tyouplease.Letters and footsteps. These children, all dead in the playground, hanging from the ropes and the swings, bled dry. You are like them, you say? Angels without wings, creating something of shifting wires and tinfoil and hope. But that's ancient history, so don't look back. Radiation poisoning:
Sta.sh
