If I sit tight, don't make a sound, there's bound to be someone that wants to disturb me, but here in the attic where the air bends the static and the light starts to flicker I kick around some ideas, formulating a panacea for all of my woes.
In the sharp cut of morning where the blood of the day starts flowing through the veins that are broken and the shops start to open and the sirens are wailing I think that I'm swimming in the lines that are flooding to drown my face in deep sorrow, each day it's tomorrow and tomorrow's not there.
If sitting tight means I'll make it then it'll make me or break me and the static will take me far from the heartache that stalks me through the long walks in the country where the fields are enclosed and it all looks the same to me.
There's a fog on the boundary, looks like some old dog that is hounding me, but imagination makes sounds which to me become pictures and the pictures like some things are frightening, static and lightning being two of them.

So much depends to the brown-eyed guy who stole my heart.
So much depends to his unidentical thumbs that makes me laugh.
So much depends to his wrinkled eyes that looks like a cat.

And there's more to that...

So much depends on him taking another risk to try again.
So much depends on the fear he had experienced- and
So much depends to what I have offered him.
*Love.

I think the sea will welcome you
For I've seen it in your eyes a hundred times,
And heard it crashing through your voice.
I think it has much to teach you in wildness
For you hold in you the same immense, awesome power
It wields when it crushes ships
And batters cliffsides smooth,
And the same silvered grace
It sways with when the moon trails her fingers through the waves on clear nights.

It does not apologize for its savagery,
For the way it rakes its fingers across the shore,
The way it takes.
It cannot be small.
It cannot be meek.
It cannot be silent.
It cannot be
Tame-
Its gentleness and its violence are lovers, ever embracing
And it has never wondered
Why.

It IS, and it is
Exquisite in its rawness.
It can be smooth as glass, murmuring its great hush to the sands
And yet it can within a moment
Rage!
With no shame, no restraint,
Uncontainable and
Unignorable.

I see all of this beneath your skin when your face darkens and you think no one has noticed.
I see your vastness, pressing out,
And I see you soothe it back into silence.
I see it and it moves me toward it like the tide
With its feral beauty,

Yes-
I imagine the ocean will rejoice to rise around you and hold you up as a part of it,
For there are some people- I've said as much-
Who belong to the earth in a special way.
People whose feet the ground worships
And whose face the wind kisses
And whose fingers the grasses reach for.

People whose eyes
The sea lives in.

I imagine it waits for you.

When it's a perfect pitch,
when you've sold them on the dream and it's all gone without a hitch you can reel them in, sell them short and sell them thin and they'll say,
'thank you, bless you, without you what would life be?'
and won't see the small print or the lint on the cloth, the moth only sees the flame and that's the name of the game when you're selling the dream.

I once bought a pig in a poke, the joke was on me, like the moth I could see the light and bought the pig outright, fool that I am for listening to fools, schools never teach you about the pitch, perfect or not, you've got to learn the ropes, get your hopes dashed, your dreams split open and smashed and then when the world crashes down on you, you'll know what to do and that is to pitch and perfectly,.
It works for me.