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There is a man holding a megaphone, so he must have been the voice of God. |
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The bystanders claimed they saw angels flying up and down the block. |
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Well, they must have been attached to wires. I saw one laying in the lawn with a broken arm, |
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so I called 911. So that is one less founded opinion. One more cause for a dispute. |
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So the street filled, like a basin, up with cameras and their crews |
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and they washed away the rumors leaving just the concrete truth. It was a spectacle. |
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No, I mean a miracle. So then I fell like that girl from a balance beam. |
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A gymnasium of eyes were all holding on to me. I lifted one foot to cross the other |
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and I felt myself slipping. It was a small mistake. Sometimes that is all it takes. |
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Now I'm staring at my wrist, hoping that the timing is right. When the planes will align. |
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There will be no planets to align. Just the carcass of the sun |
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and those little painted marbles spinning endless through an endless black sky. |
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(and so it never started and it will never stop just like I am and you are) |
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It was in a foreign hotel's bathtub I baptized myself in change. |
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And one by one I drowned all of the people I had been. |
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I emerged to find the parallels were fewer. I was cleansed. I looked in the mirror |
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and someone new was there. Still, I was as helpless as a chess piece |
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when I was lifted up by someone's hand and delivered from the corner my enemies had got me in. |
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But in all of my salvation I still felt imprisoned inside that holding cell that is myself. |
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So I wait for the day when I'll hear the key as it turns in the lock |
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and the guard will say to me, "Oh my patient prisoner you have waited for this day |
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and finally you are free! You are free! You are freezing." |
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Now I'm staring at the sun, waiting for it to explode. Because a day is gonna come, |
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don't know when but it will come and then we will finally know the way out of here. |
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And I will throw away this wrinkled map and my chart of stars and compass, cracked. |
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And I'll climb out that tree all wet with sap to avoid the hungry beasts below. |
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I'll cut out my love's tongue and sing of a graveyard gray and a garden green |
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and then we won't have to worry no more. No we won't ever worry again about |
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how this song or story ends about how this song and story will end. |
