Thursday, September 14, 2006


That long grey road, slithering up the hill
The snake we rode to find our way home
But those years were skin that's since been shed
and this place we're at now, we were only supposed to have visited

I'm weary from being dragged behind hearts that roam
My softness was the skin that's left tracks on the road

Yet, I revel in the archeology of our love
How we buried and excavated our hearts many times over
How our words were the tools of a civilization
That's risen and fallen again and again
but each time a little less civilized

My memory is a museum in which you're displayed
The onlooker marvels but with each look he degrades

How does one apologize for emotional appropriation?
The way I stripped your joy
Painted it with my brush, wore it as my robe
Until finally, you were content being nude and blunted

So you took cover in our bed and quietly you bled
Rationing your pleasure in the colors of our comforter
The way you silenced those alarms I thought we'd never wake up
And the moment I decided I could risk this
was the moment you decided your were viscous
I awoke, the bed sheets soaked
with your tears and your poetry
Demanding to be rid of me

Me and you and our archetypal tragedies
Me and you and our make-love maladies
Yes we made love alive and afraid
Until finally you said, love can also be unmade
And the actuality of our archeology is that all the parts we rediscover
are but a fraction of what's lost forever