Still waiting the old address

No, you don't. you never know. you can guess. you can fathom. you can plan your days away from dawn until the day you die in the shade of the bridge where you first let your hand slip under her dress while you kissed to a cicada sunset but it won't amount to anything more than the memory of a palimpsest.

So bury it.

Burn.

Let the strange avenues of fortune shine a terrifying way for you without friends, without lovers, without country or kin to call you back to the sense of belonging because sometimes, at our finest moments, all we know. all we dream. all we believe and loathe is lost to the moment.

And clarity shines her grasshopper sonnet.

The ants drown, lonely, in the bay.

In The New Year.mp3