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pulling at my harp strings some violin sang to me while pulling at my harp strings "wearing" me like cheap pearl necklaces and i could'nt say words like..."wait come back" or "hey i'll still be here" because you didn't turn around so i just kept playing familiar tunes by ear plucking notes outta guitars with my fingers saturated in exhaustion i could run into a million of your little guilt festivals and claim re-construction for self pity but i bundle up, in a box you label "never again" and blend into your refusals you throw out almost as casually as fancy handshakes i ripen from those attic christmas lights that hang from rusted nails tanning under high-strung bulbs and i notice those plastic stars there are big dippers on every ceiling (so it seems) but they never last longer that 10 minutes fading to black shilouettes that dance against the whitened walls ..a basketwork of absence seeping into my nourished observations and so now, when could i have found the time to share more? strumming those guitar strings till my miniature hands bled between the lines. i had no time to re-plan this venture no time to re-invent the old scarecrow only enough time to empty out overstocked libraries and (alone) chase away the crows this is the reckless partnership to nowhere especially if you don't sing me to sleep anymore wear unto me like static filled violin chords while those clef notes set me off to dream again Overnight, very discreetly, i question where the music really comes from and why it touches me so. |
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