Thursday, September 06, 2007

I found my bicycle built for five the other day tucked in an alley behind a mound of tangy rotting oranges, drops of juice seeping from fissures burst in their skin and soaking into the pavement. Some of the fists have melted out of my hands, and I sat on the middle seat, ready to ride away, only I got jumped just then by that same old jukebox. It was still playing the one song that runs faster than I do and man, did those fists jump back into place right quick.

I guess it had been hiding on the other side of those oranges.

What I wanted was to fold a bit of my DNA around a few of those seconds like scotch tape around an inchworm, but they moved faster than I did. And now I'm tired of waiting for them to come back around. Let's move to the desert and start a seafood restaurant instead. Let's find a swingset and go as high as we can, daring the momentum and the sweet breeze to fall in love with us.

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