Monday, April 20, 2015


When they met,
She held two minutes of silence,
And threw them at him hard.
They smashed into smithereens of conversation.
He had good reflexes.
Her aim was always off.

He said take your time.
Then hurry up.
(No, he didn't listen to Kurt Cobain.)
She was never slow.
But then again how fast can you go?
She had never.. you know..
Closed her eyes and touched
the right hand.
Then opened them and looked at the scenery
Still the same.

Bad phonelines, casual endearments,
Never his name.
Except when she was angry.
Or anxious.
She can't tell the difference anymore.
No, she can. Can she?
Can't she?
Won't she?

Look at the moon
For answers.
It's cloudy.

Change music tracks.
And wait for the train.
It's a song she heard a long time ago
On another record.
She sits still  in the cloudy moonlight

She feels in the dark
for the silence she threw at him
The shards cut her words.
She glues the pieces together
Creating new shapes with the shapeless
And waits for him to notice.
He has no eye for lines.
Or what's between them

The track changes,
The links break and join with each turn,
Purple twilight windows
Shade a paper moon
Carrying a note she can't read.
It's a long way to the moon,
But you can't tell that to a train.


Pats her on the back
In tune to a lullaby
Heard and long forgotten
(on purpose?)
So long ago
Like the cloudy moon
That signs mutely
of unfamiliar familiarities.
Like old photos exhumed
With moon rock faces
Blotchy with fungal craters.
Hold your head between your knees
And breathe.

He finds her hand in the dark.
With the jolt of an accident,
He's been searching too.
They are not sure what they've found,
Between moonshine and memory
There's still a long way
To the moon.