Monday, June 8, 2009

Bill Murray

Choose the day you'd relive.

So hard with spotty memory,
Flecked and smudged with greasy nostalgia, but I
Can remember lying on the prickly grass,
Inhaling the smell of ground and
Home through my blanket,
Warm sun orange through my closed lids,
Soft breeze rippling the pages of the book nearby.

I don't remember which book, and this
bothers me
Probably Anne of Green Gables, or Little
Women, but it could have been during my
Stephen King stage. I want it to be a Huxley
novel, or Vonnegut, but those were

Smell of baby oil, and the sun toasting
me, because I didn't know it was poison.

The best part, the part that makes me want to live this day...
Listening to In Search of the Lost Chord, loud
In my headphones, feeling deepened, different,
transported. House of four doors, opening
the doors of perception in my tuned in mind, as I
settled down into the grass and became a part of
Never more present, never more distant.

I think
It was that night I felt infinity expand in my brain as
I looked up at stars forever.

No comments:

Post a Comment