Lamplight or Sunlight

Listening to Les Mis on the beach-- the multi-lingual finale-- and having such purpose and enthusiasm (albeit acted) and remembering why and how much I love the French Revolution and staring out at the hopeless and endless and wide sea and letting my mind meet the horizon and thinking of Todd and of every existential bone in my body and realizing one question-- the eternal question... and my unhappiness with my answer.

My skin slides against these grains and I can feel my waxen lips melting faster as the sun presses my head down too fast.

Hyde... Hyde...

***********************************

Evening. And vaguely, the thunder creeps through my burning lips. Bright flashes slip under my eyes and I wonder if this is what it is like once the shadows have faded on the tavern wall. Only this this storm is silent-- save the vague rumbling-- and I dread the return of the quotidian.

And I feel my hot face pressed against the darkness and solidity of the closet door. And I feel those bicycle lashes against (around) my neck. Youthful and free... That is inside of it all. They are a couple that are linked only by the stars in my mind. Youth keeps a vigil for freedom and never ever sheds a tear. (Ha!)

Anyway, shadows are shadows, be it lamplight or sunlight, and my lips burn regardless in the worst asymmetrical way. Al, but how I miss safety ("Ah" spells "Ha" backwards). And in resignation, I realized that there is really no purpose in repeating myself over and over in different crappy poems, like a bad alternative rock group.

I wonder what will happen to Clinton...

Anyway, time for Val Jean to die (again).

Good night...

-h-