Saturday, May 12, 2007

Living Proof

I feel most alive when writing
It’s just that way
So it goes..

Questioning everything
Is this sentence too long
Should I use a comma or semicolon
Why am I working in another kitchen
Ready to blow out my brains with the
Realization that the greatness I believed
Was around the next bend is just another
Stuffed shirt, another painted sunset.

I don’t feel displaced when punching the keys,
Don’t feel so out of my element or wishing I were
Some other place. The other day I took a walk down
This street I use to know when a teenager, my friend
David Molinaro lived there with his Uncle Lou, sisters
Sharon and Linda and her daughter Melissa, it was a
Time of experimentation and confusion, a time of alliances
Formed and then forsaken.

Living proof that our dreams can work for or against us
We know only as much as we’re designated to know the rest
Is made up as we travel down a highway of silhouettes and
Shadows. Kneeling next to my bed reciting The Lord’s Prayer
I hear my voice in the darkness as both a stronghold and a vice.

May 6, 2007

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