Look at em

March 15, 2010 § Leave a comment

As Eleanor Rigby may have seen this night. While no one looks at all the lonely people.
Or at the stars as I see them. On a terrace by the sea, white tiled as the moon missing above.
Wine on my breath with images of a documentary on alcoholism and the Beatles ahing at the ones you will never see first hand.
All the lonely people. Look, look. How will you hear them tell their story if you don’t even look’t em.
The sky never pressed down. Always an escape, a wonderous possibility of every sort.
The fabric is septic tonight with the pinholes telling me how  Eleanor probably reached into one of these frayed spots towards the light.
Reached up and reached out without memories or plans on a night like this, shedding the gleaming tiles and fears of the now.
While dogs sing with animal howls like Damien Rice never can as he proposes to make babies and accidental songs.
I do close my eyes and still I think of you. Though you know you left me in places of despair.
You know you trip without me and hope you wake up without me. And I hope it makes you know it makes all the difference.
Not reaching for those points of exit in the night sky, comforting as they are in the lull of a wine lent slur.


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