Friday, March 23, 2007

I don't know if you realize that you are only in my head.

When I am gone I want you to gather up whatever is left and set on fire. When that cools I want you to set it on fire again, and that remnant of remnants is what I want you to give to an airplane. They should use it to skywrite a smile with no eyes, or a small dog with a stack of horse hooves for one leg.

Gathering each perfect object in my fingers like mayflowers to lay at your doorstep, planning to ring the doorbell and run away. Only because it is just as likely that you will crush these things that I find beautiful under the toe of your unthinking shoe as it is that you will take them inside and place them carefully on a shelf that you can see from your bed.

Just because I tossed you bodily in front of that rain of bullets doesn't mean I didn't intend it in the nicest way possible.

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