take that frown and break it

see i think of a million things in the course of my day each poetic and perfect, each a reflection of some higher notion but when i sit down in front of the screen (maybe that is where the problem lies after all , such phrases in their rightfull manner should be from a heart to another) nothing seems to come out straight simply because of the fact i begin trying to order words and put in descriptions and make them sound pretty--all that presicion and medation kills the muse, i suppose--

either way--there are 3 things to die for in this world-- 1)tullips 2)rain 3)family

have about 50 or some more pages of the waves--saving them for the morning reading tomorow at 8 at the banks hopefully if the weather turns out good--with the cats (jack may show up, he scratched me the other day) (oh and ezra's missing again, need to put a leash on that damn cat-- one heck of a free spirit he/she is)-- and the crows (for they always enjoy the best view at the best time) and the old man sweeping the streets and the crazy cats who can stand up against god for all they care but run away like mice from water when they sense the broom coming--anyways with all the beatiful unspoiled things of the morning light just falling over surely (night is full of doubt and is a bully, where as morning is clean cut and certain and strong) and i'll sit there for about an hour or so and snatch myself away from the miseries of the world (i am any and all miseries, i feel pain from a mile away and i can not rest until i make it mine--be it of the dirty junkie of the street or of my own father in the same room, i am if nothing else is best at making myself suffer in the name of sufferings i force over names of others) and sit back and relax and probably turn on way way early dylans and pretend that i do not live my life among the lives of others

anyways--until then--perfection is in this next few minutes be it physical (it is not shallow to look at someone and enjoy beauty for beauty's sake and let's face it where would poetry be if it wasn't for simple sheer beauty at the drop of the sweat from the hair and the biting of the lower lip) or entirely spiritual-this one song being the ruler of the world in the few minutes it possesses--this one song that made dylan ask first "what was the last song?" and following the answer from the lead singer "trani" declaring "that's hellofasong"

i'll second that zimmerman