here's where the story ends

sunday morning..foggy day..new york times...strewn...coffee mugs filled with hot tea...muffins...warm.

essays of innocence run their course in my mind. and I leave them there..only to say that the more I learn the more it makes sense. we dont ever really lose it. when we are letting our fear show. what is more innocent than that? my biggest crime against love is that I was always trying to BE what they wanted...and all they wanted was me...

sounds of the washing machine and blackbirds mix to create a foundation of bass and body expression...the c-130's that flew all night...creating the smooth dark sound of the voice singing to the masses...people in dresses sunday best to go...dancers on the floor..

I wish I could just sit here and sit here. but work calls. for 9 hours. someday. someday. freedom.

peace

create