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The roots of my childhood wrap around my head.
Sometimes I feel like I can't breathe;
I do and life goes on
Or seems to.
It's a clothesline day when my clothes are wet.
I can't wear them like that
or maybe I will
curtains of time ramble and ramble like a train
lost but not wanting to be corrected.
I sit in this chair without a bottom
much as if I
can't do any better
I value my friends
They aren't up on me & we don't play cards and
those ridiculous games
but they matter to me
Over time they drop back into my life
like that parable about Jesus showin up as the old
woman
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Tue, 27 Mar 2007 5th Entry