twister

May 16, 2008 - 20:31 PM PST

The air is warm and sticky. Long hair twists and dances. Aching for freedom, but they are firmly rooted in my head. I stop them from moving on whatever journey the wind tempts them with. Much like the roots of trees prevents them from running into the mountains, or like the brakes in a car stops it from rolling or like the mind stops the heart from loving. Roots, brakes and sensibilities end many lofty dreams of what could be.
Waking up with the taste of blood in your mouth is better than waking up with a scream in your throat.
I have done both in frequency.
Today everything was convulsing with urgency. Bags and empty plastic bottles were exchanging secrets and dishing out advice. Fingers on keyboard battled for perfection. Precision, efficiency. Hesitant pencils on paper proliferated the schools and tormented children. The stop lights and speedometer pushed and moved the world mile by mile.
I was a witness to this pulsing and aching. I drank water, because I thought I might faint. And I recalled old lovers and I dreamed of new ones. Stuck in a binary tug of war, I sit and wait for clarification.