The days blur, and the cities safe and I havn’t seen a sunset since September. The manhole covers smoke and the street lights are dim. The overpass is cool from the trucks that pass.
Growing up the breeze near the fence on the edge of the woods felt remote, a secret location that saved us from the wide open boredom of nowhere. Theres a love and safety in depressing sameness. I can drink tea up town every night, and I can rehash the same conversations with the same people constantly, and I don’t worry about whether I’m waisting my life. I don’t care. The effort of the great horizon is painful. The brave new world is wet and cold, and its breezes are neither familiar or comforting. My hearts still coiled deep in its sleeping bag and its refusing to get up fro breakfast.
Nothing is fun anywhere, and I know the price of soup in boston so fuck it. To me the grass is depressed, it blows in the win near patches of dirt and it will forever, seeing the same dumb kids with brand new fashions come year in and out. The future is overcast, not bad, or negative but set, and toned down. I sail. The crabgrass can’t get me at sea and the inside of the boat is the best place to watch the rain engage the small cap sea shanties.
New England is to be roamed with a sailors cap, I walk the hills of Vermont with a hobo sack and duck into old pubs an eat clam chowder. And oldman plays the accordion in the corner, and the novels all curls up by the fireplace. I grab the wet sleeves of my t-shirt like gargoyles and just listen to them blather on.
2 comments:
I wish you were bored more often.
well that makes one of us. I appreciate the support and compliment though. If you have a blog, feel free to link it.
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