She lives for performing,
Even if only for an emptiness of seats, And finds rhythms in the world That passes us by. When she stands still, it is so she may more closely observe the world rushing past like the wind. While he lies beside me in the dark, he is drifting
in his brain, behind closed eyelids while I lie thoughtless he remembers a boy of six in his mother's closet, surrounded, in an arena of scent and colour leather and suits, and a neat line of shoes he slips his hand into a pocket of a coat with a grey and white weave and finds the cold, hard cylinder-- dark red lip stain that he paints experimentally across his palm then leaves the closet as he found it My grandfather said: "never let the world tell you no"
So, even though I feel like crying, I will walk into this day. |