| "my dreams are a cruel joke. they taunt me. even in my dreams, i'm an idiot who knows he's about to wake up to reality. if i could only avoid sleep. i can't. i try to tell myself what to dream. i try to dream that i'm flying-- something free. it never works." |
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| [ this post has been removed -- the mgt. ]
Oh yeah, and Cheney shot a guy.
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| the following is perhaps one of the most moving piece i've read in a long time. after i got done reading it, i had to close my book and catch my breath. i then opened the book again and reread the poem, upon which i closed it. i repeated this several times until i decided i had to share it.
this is a poem by Donald Justice
On the Death of Friends in Childhood
We shall not ever meet them bearded in heaven,
Nor sunning themselves among the bald in hell,
If anywhere, in the deserted schoolyard at twilight,
Forming a ring, perhaps, or joining hands
In games whose very names we have forgotten,
Come, memory, let us seek them there in the shadows.
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| finding jesus
used to be
a last resort.
now it's becoming
a consideration.
last night
as i drove home
from your apartment
i debated crashing
my car into the guard-railing
on the bridge up the street.
just
to see
what would
happen.
i never used to argue
with myself.
but now i always do
whenever i'm behind
the wheel.
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