future.
2005-08-08 11:24 a.m.
hours given up to conversation, in the middle of the city, fall sets in to make a day stay early, we were there, soft and smilingour common numbers up at one another, and i know direct questions, i know easy entrances, and i always
make people into buildings, with long displays of blueprints, what we love and hate about our selves, proclivities
toward science and mathematics, quick answers to those longing questions, i give her
a book by rumi, and two weeks later she hands me a book of poetry, saying - this is the man who brought sufism to the west
i'm not much for exchanging intellects (it makes me uncomfortable), so i'm sensitive in my reaction, and wondering
at how belief systems make progress within believers, how hearts turned over poets can make men into preachers, and what good word represents the conclusion to this movement
we talk about feeling invicible, about feeling blessed. how many people know this
about us? that we lead simple lives in cooperative households, or scrounge around in basements with the cat and company hardly calling
how many people know the ways we take, our paths and plans, stord up, how traveling means, at most,
a bus ticket into the country and then high hopes for free rides and empty stories, and how we'll hardly know the names in other cities, how
i've got languages stacked up inside me, waiting to be released?
and i'm a corner store proclamation, the sidewalks and the streets, sing out my name in prophecy, what i have been, what i will see
is stacked up on the other side, and barely out of reach.