We wait for the check in the
newly-opened Indian restaurant.
The walls are still bare. They
have not had time to put up paintings.
Across the room, past the bar,
a customer with an accent complains.
He has been waiting for his order too long.
"This is not good," he says, "We used to support you,
but this is not good."
My mother talks about college; my father,
about Business. We wait for the check.
I wait for the future.
| one thing you forget is that... simple is often the most complex. why? because life and love and the craziness which ensues is farkin' crazy and divine. |
what does divine mean? what does the taste of three daisies in one's hand and the feel of a soon-to-be solar eclipse mean
in the grand gist-histrionic scheme of things?
the one thing is to.......
stay true to yourself. record life. snap it and think
"fark yeah, that was bomb, that was a true delight" and think,
who cares. just think.
it's poetry, girl.
don't think so hard.
you understand, right?
|| Posted on 2008-02-06 00:00:00 | by silent strings | [ Reply to This ] || This is an amazing, succinct piece. I always thought it'd be sweet if newspapers printed a small poetry piece everyday, just like in the comics section, but I could never think of what kind of riding could be short and still have meaning, this is that piece.||| Posted on 2008-02-04 00:00:00 | by MC white | [ Reply to This ] || Actually, I really like this and its simplicity. A captured moment with a bunch going on in the background. Waiting... waiting for something, something different, to change what is. At least to me, that is the feeling that I get from this. ||| Posted on 2008-01-30 00:00:00 | by isabella | [ Reply to This ] |