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Presbyopia:
Words draw waves on air. Talk is cheap but what a price you had to pay for a kiss. An investment for a crime? Everybody said "I could tell". Didn't you, you wonder why. Love can be blind but never such a lie. Presbyopia: that's what your friends have. You wrote her name on beer and even drank the glass. Their eyes are tired of seeing nothing, glazed by imagining too much. Presbyopia: that's what your friend's have. Foreseeing's malady.

Two Questions:
I'm about to break a promise. Since I made it to myself I'll just have to look aside and pretend that I don't notice. Besides, if Barcelona reinvents itself as a victim caught by a devastating modern fire: Couldn't I just change my mind, contradict myself and ask what the fuck are you made of? Rainy sunday, get cloudy advice on paper's horoscope lies. Since we're born under the same zodiac sign. Couldn't I just change my mind, contradict myself and ask what the fuck are you made of? I would not accept that mysterious is all you are.

Vertigo:
Since I don't speak through your mouth and don't see through your eyes, the world just moves its lips now. Everything that sounds sheds ridiculousness. Like this dripping wine. Or my don't you worries. I'd like to see you in your white coat. Your tears gently falling down below with vertigo. I am a professional unemployed. Up on this cliff call it motel in France this time. Feel like crying -blame it on a song- but I don't even know how. Resigned with the rain.

Charm Green, Cynical Red:
Blue twilight eclipses cranes, pale scaffolds and my concerns right up there. I wander mechanically glad to live here. That's how masoquist I am. Stare at this city's eyes, blinking traffic light's. Dying every path in charm green cynical red. How can I miss a life I never lived. When this city and a showcase where different things. If a real good friend says everything's design I wonder. What would my enemies say?

Helicopters:
Radio is on to mute night's length. So are helicopters. Don't feel safe. They're just another more broken sound in our basement. A reason to take a look between those bars again. Helicopters made of mistrust replace fireworks and stars. They're celebrating nothing but my fear that's increasing every second. I know what's wrong with this town. I am officially affected. O'Connell and me were the only singles on the bridge. He stood petrified staring at how tedious I was. I know what's wrong with this town: you're not here and rubbish is just collected once a week. Come back so I can enjoy this world and its sounds again.

Bipartite:
Checked in Mr. Blue's overalls and silenced the idleness of my every pace. Listen: the crowd at school's entrance so loud I couldn't hear the sound of nostalgia. Looked for me all night. 'Til dawn's first light revealed my sight. Stared at a young girl's sleepy eyes and touched the empty seat beside me under the metro's pale light. Tried to walk in your shoes just for a while: never handed a coin for a desperate phone call. Looked for me all night. 'Til dawn's first light revealed my sight. My outline's kidnapped. Caught in a shop window's cheap shine. Lighting a cigarette, found out he was left-handed. Revealing tête-a-tête.

Luton Can Wait:
Obsolete papers took my feet and me on the ground. Then headache my baggage could not take me lower. My identity forgot about me. My card rests in peace. Diva that lands down from her dance. Deported. Banished in a cab. Our city slept. You are my address. Woke you up with a kiss. You asked who is this.

Suite 58:
If you survived a car crash you'll handle my visit easily. I'm no bachelor but I've got a strategy. An optimistically resigned first-aid-kit. Differences between us go no further than this: you're still on drugs and I can walk. We live in Suite 58. I know you're figuring me in a white coat, ridiculous. Pretentious my inquires, aseptic my smile. But I know I'm not the only asshole in this room: man it's you who's reading that self-help book? Tragically locked in the hurry to stop. Betrayed by our own dreams. Surviving accidents.

We've got to talk:
It's so windy. Doors and windows slam right in the face of people like us. I wait for you the way leaves care for the fall. Let's fix all this damaged goods of ours. You know I'm not talking about D.I.Y. Nothing to do with creaking wood, broken glass. We're just not used to that. Days of rough mixed up weather. Are the best of our plans stored away in the past? Where still promises existed. Between truth and indulgence. Everything seems to come to and end and nothing begins but the fall. We're just not used to that. Days of rough mixed up weather. To natural disasters such as disaffection, here.



© 2002-2008 David J. Cubberly