She was the scratch on the roof
The opening in an all white room
That spoke freedom
The free voice that you stared at while laying still
Passing the time because there was no way out
But through that roof
Boredom is the thought of you facing yourself
One on one
Mano y mano
Un delgado
Delicately delegating to yourself the very things
You think of yourself as imperfect
Perfectly knowing how insane the process is
Sanity in love?
Logic in lust with itself
The whole thing a throbbing lamp of blue lava
Settled when cold but as soon as warmth arrived
The meandering globs and botches of paint couldn't stand to mix well
So where does that leave us
Oh yes tongue lashing the ceiling
Cursing the floors
You know only you can stop the voices
But like any good cut
You can't help but reopen that wound
Until it becomes a part of you.
Copyright, 2010, Christopher Baird--all rights reserved.
Contact me for reprint/posting permission.
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