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___|text file # 005|___-[ C R A C K E R S ]-______________!___________________
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*  "slippery when wet"                                                      |`.
*______________________________________[ brian : 23rd of October, 2002 c.e. ] *
                                         ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ * *
I said I had a secret and she frowned,
turned the volume up on her shower radio
and drug her fingertips over the showerhead--
chrome sunshine splashing aqua ultraviolet rays on her skin.

And where was I when she was burned and smothered by the exclusive weather?
I was caught up in this tranquil piano playing street outside my apartment
wondering when she'd be done in the bathroom,
closing my eyes, shading away the smiles of passerbys,
shaking away this piano playing street thats making me cry.

And where was my friend whom I was to meet an hour past?
She was caught up in the asphalt stripes,
coloured yellow and white to represent purity and death,
fooling even the sharpest of shears
and the pointiest of spears
that hide behind the automatic beast,
swirving like marlins through the slippery rock.

I said I had a secret,
"Here it is," I whispered to her
while she peeked her face out through the curtain.
"I have a friend, her name is tears,
but everyone calls her Rebecca."
We both looked down,
her thoughts scribbles of perception,
my thoughts focused on the yellow tile floor,
deciding whether or not to speak some more.
Instead, I looked up at her, still downcast.
The shampoo, I noticed, had lathered up so nicely in her hair
that she resembled a paper maché angel emblem,
yet I had to interrupt:
"And I am moving away with her..."

It was then that the curtains dropped,
the music faded in the echoes
and, finally, the actress had taken her bow,
leaving the audience aghast,
petrified,
and the theater had closed,
closing the show
and ending the drama,

so I poignantly put up myself into space,
and left through the door,
down the hall, out to the deck,
and just closed my eyes,
struggling to find the playing piano
amidst my burning retnas.

And where was my friend now?
She was caught up in the flashing yellow lights
listening to the piano playing from the roof,
closing her eyes,
while turning beautifully into the symphony composer.

These eyelids of mine hung lazily,
massaging sticky folds in human essence,
the sunlight plopping down on my irises--
my piano playing street drowned out by an ambulance,
swarming by the cars;
the only glimpse I could catch was white nothing,
speeding by on four wheels and a siren.
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                                    http://www.bubblemonkey.org/cheesencrackers
                             
                                                   cnc-005.txt written by brian
                                                       <brian@bubblemonkey.org>
                             
                         
                         copyright (c) 2002, your mom.