Tuesday, November 09, 2010

Nightsong.

Oh, tonight. Tonight with your train smells and somber wails, with your poetry that needs to be read out loud and back again, offering the very best stanzas for your careful consideration. You are the chill that wakes these ached bones and urges another bowl full of that black-eye vegetable chili, the one with the aftertaste so well-suited for your mouth, you have no choice but to taste it later, and later still. The air conditioner is finally set to OFF and clothes are stretched out in dead animal yoga positions all across the wooded floor, lazing on backs of chairs and couch. This season is the changing one, the one you dress with a sweater and scarf, your best pair of striped socks. Give me the problems, the ones I can place upon my back, devour a bit at a time and offer up solutions for, ones nobody will hear or apply. Face me with your loud imperfections that I reward with a smirk, whether seen, whether not. Urge me gently into a Damien Jurado soundtrack once again, where the LIKE NEW price of $2.79 means nothing to most, and each quiet strain from his guitar and whispering is so gold and so golden, the stuff to shove deep into pockets, pull out to peek at, shove back inside. Deeper this time. More. There’s no use sharing magic with those who refuse to understand.

3 comments:

shana said...

THIS is why I first started reading you and what I come back for. Full.

Dainon. said...

Thanks!

Natasha said...

Love love love......