lycanthrope the peak experiences
a quickening in light
in my eyes
the way a whole spring
guilds in a raindrop

the phone in another house
an endless mysterious ringing
the phone's always for someone else.
Even when they say my name.

The strange screeching of a hundred night owls
a sound that would be alarming
if we hadn't chosen it.

in the distance is music, music always
playing for someone else
and what do they hear from me?
a festival i don't understand,
even when they invite me,
even when they ask me to procede.

sometimes you are lucky, or just circumstanced
and you are with a star when it dies,
all lights are stars from a distance.
Elsewhere a light is pitched out of a river
of a belt,a point finally reaches darkness,
but they cannot explain
nor can you
you are too close.
You cannot see what was lost
nor can they.

a train with empty seats, all empty except for yours
the light swings back and forth, flickering
erratically for you alone perhaps?
yet it seems to mind you not,
for when you go to set your eyes on what is ahead,
on the driver? is there a driver?
it flickers to darkness again and the path diminishes
to the immediate, an empty seat ahead of you
around you, shadows given life,
given your mind, stealing in like ghosts.

mysterious satellites pass by and make startling sounds
rebounding off the solidness firmly out of your grasp.

and in my dreams my father is an archaeologist
and his assitants and him are always doing
the same things. They'll say lo, i've found
something novel, and he'll say no no, stick
to the same old things, we've got to keep
at it like this, like music played on a wound
up flute. And he always finds the things
i can only have faith in if someone else
says. Those other dependant things
like 3am. If you're not here, you're there,
and you're a theif perhaps. But I always
catch you from the corner of my eye,
and square to you,
whenever i can.

I take deep breaths of air millions of years old
which crumbles if i try to hold it
too long in my lungs like when i'm feeling classical.
occasionaly Empirically i have nothing to say to you,
though it would seem i am saying something.

Waiting for what? the phone to ring, and the answers to come?
Always waiting for someone else's answers,
towing your line like one of the feebles
at the end of jeopardy who suddenly realizes
they don't belong,
but sheepishly presents their availability
as the music fades and they light up.
Hello? Who is it?
Tildan love it.

lycanthrope thanks and for the link...thanks...that's a nice page itself. They're all connected. I love trains...and the constellations look like rails sometimes. and yay for the levels of disconnection and reconnection, self and other in strange new from another star. Hot ice and cold fire... 020515
Tildan I love trains.

OR do I hate them?

They bring out weird feelings, anyway. Any speedling landscape does, I guess, but something about trains.

whitechocolatewalrus [when this is over
when it's over
it's alright
it's alright]
i'm spinning
and i don't know when everything will stop
what's it to you?
who go