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 PERFECT
i want to keep this stain on the ground. i want to take you with
me the next ten thousand times around. the hole in the wall is your
symbol to be free.
perfect lies the man who saw too much. perfect kills the time spent
between us. perfect shows me ends too soon. time spoke more than you
ever did. perfect is it when you inside yourself have hid. "...and
there's nothing i could ever say to you."
CROSSROADS
you, as stone: immovable.
freshen the air and shake the leaves around my feet. all i can do is
stare. i've never played a game so wicked and genuine. innocence
turned hard; the freezing space between us melted my eyes shut
again.
our roads that lead their paths elsewhere; somewhere lost like a
cruel joke, forgotten they travel unaware. someday i know i'll find
the crossroads.
DEAD ON COMMAND
i'm waiting for you to rush out of here - to take yourself to a
happier place. another broken field of everything and a silence like
fire rushing through my veins. i can't help knowing the
inevitability of departures like yours - too often, too soon, yet
right on time - drifting like silk over skin. and in an instant as
fast as abandoned ground, the eyes are unlocked to little traces of
emptiness: vast fields of where we were and everything in between.
the worst things i ever could imagine shake days in to years, and
brighten your face in my mind. and soften tears into fatal blows.
there never was a sign of any of this. that was the least that i
expected and the most that you could ever show.
so with a star-rise kiss i watch you leave, for it's the best thing
i could ever do and it's the easiest way to let myself believe.
BYE BYE BLACK SHEEP
i dream in open fields,
flooded with melted wax and useless words. it's how i spend every
waking hour. there isn't any one thing i can do to let loose myself;
to empty me from this shell. i pretend it makes me whole. it's the
best thing i can do to wade here in polluted thoughts - all stagnant
and liquid, and i drown in every single one.
but i love it here. it's like a family, i call it "home." and i'm
just waiting for it to all disappear.
all words © ben londa,
1996.
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