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seventeen days 10:40 a.m. 2008-02-07 Cross fade the radio backwash in a sea of engines idling and cut your leery teeth on this concrete city when the lights go out and sleeps. Meticulously planned she bled her revenge over the ocean and stars with the kind of conscious deliberation meant for glory not endings. Love songs on the speaker wire and 75 shadowstiched miles are culminating in a sense of a euphoric firefight over the empty planes and angles of this airlifted nature. My legs long to run when it snows still and I keep a check in my back pocket for when the water line rises. We'll just up and run with the breeze on our cheeks still warm from the mountain and ever last inch of our skin screaming the saddest rebellion we know against every sack of four-wall enclosures. The tragedy anymore is that it takes revolution to make dancing feel right back & forth |