Wanderer :: Harlow Eames [WIP]

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[attr="class","HarlowContent"]

anyone lived in a pretty how town
If the city weren't a fellow insomniac,
(with up so floating many bells down)
blinking against the darkness of four
spring summer autumn winter
hours past midnight, I might feel lonely.
he sang his didn't he danced his did
Instead it's easy to lose my thoughts

Women and men(both little and small)
in the blurring rush of late-night traffic,
cared for anyone not at all
despite the unfamiliarity of my surroundings.
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
This park bench could be anywhere,
sun moon stars rain
tossed across the world

children guessed(but only a few
by a tornado with me, heart-dizzy,
and down they forgot as up they grew
reckless, letting go by holding on.
autumn winter spring summer)
Like that, I can go anywhere and can't
that noone loved him more by more
be left behind for rain-rot or madness.

when by now and tree by leaf
The stars above are sweet enough
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
to remind me that I've got more life
bird by snow and stir by still
left in me than they keep
anyone's any was all to her
within their dead hearts, so

someones married their everyones
tonight doesn't have to be the end of anything.
laughed their cryings and did their dance
It doesn't matter that there's a silence
(sleep wake hope and then)they
underlying the hum of these streets.
said their nevers they slept their dream
Like deafness.

stars rain sun moon
Like the space between
(and only the snow can begin to explain
stuttering. Like secret, hollow places
how children are apt to forget to remember
woven through my bones. This night
with up so floating many bells down)
is as new as any other and that

one day anyone died i guess
should be reason enough to love it,
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
regardless of the way the beats of
busy folk buried them side by side
my pulse are naming themselves
little by little and was by was
after falling —

all by all and deep by deep
Alice, Jericho, Icarus, Lucifer.
and more by more they dream their sleep
In this way, I could be a new world of
noone and anyone earth by april
tumbling walls sacrificed to a
wish by spirit and if by yes.
sun of hellfire. That or

Women and men(both dong and ding)
I am exactly what I have always been:
summer autumn winter spring
left and leaving or here and then...
reaped their sowing and went their came
never again.
sun moon stars rain

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[attr="class","HarlowContent"]

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
I was never trying to be the rebel daughter of
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
some kind of new world that only ever existed
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
within my own mind. It's just that from the beginning,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
I've always felt that something wasn't quite right
though i have closed myself as fingers,
within me. I felt it in my heart and in my head
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
and in my blood and I don't mean that I ever knew I was
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
broken in the beginning, not medically

or if your wish be to close me,i and
at least, just that everything was bound to
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
change. I only wanted to become inevitable.
as when the heart of this flower imagines
Except, there's no sane way to explain
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
to other people that you want to be everything that

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
has ever been optionless, the hours of your days
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
hurtling down a mind-track that's more than
compels me with the color of its countries,
one kind of mental. Without brakes. Without fear.
rendering death and forever with each breathing
Without fuel, even. Just going on and on because

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
that's the way of things. When love does find me
and opens;only something in me understands
again, I want to be perpetual motion in her mind, until
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
she gets dizzy whenever she thinks about me and
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands






chérie
her stomach
             the very,picturesque,last Day
             turns at the sight of
(when all the clocks have lost their jobs and god
my face, and maybe that means I make her god-
sits up quickly to judge the Big Sinners)
awful sick, but I can teach her all about how
he will have something large and fluffy to say
being    well is overrated. If I were completely
to me.   All the pale grumbling wings
certain that tomorrow I'll wake up, I

of his greater angels will cease:as that Curse
wouldn't chase shadows right up until the

bounds neat-ly from the angry wad
final second before sleep, begging them

of his forehead(then fiends with pitchforkthings
to play with me just in case it really is the last thing I
will catch and toss my lovingly to
ever do. One of these days, lightning
and fro.)   Last,should you look,you
is going    to strike my heart. My bones
'll find me prone upon a greatest flame,
will crack and shatter from the brightness

which seethes in a beautiful way
and in the aftermath, all that will remain
upward;with someone by the name
of me will be dust and a pile
of Paolo passing the time of day.






along the brittle treacherous bright streets
of withering thoughts. If I'm lucky, the last
of memory comes my heart,singing like
person I loved might pick one of those

an idiot,whispering like a drunken man

who(at a certain corner,suddenly)meets
thoughts up and carry it around for
the tall policeman of my mind.

                                                        awake
                                                        a while,
being not asleep, elsewhere our dreams began
shuffling it between their pockets and their hands
which now are folded:but the year completes
and the unspoken cusp of their lips, as if it
his life as a forgotten prisoner
still means something. If that

—"Ici?"—"Ah non,mon chéri;il fait trop froid"—
happens, I'll have everything I've ever wanted. After
they are gone:along these gardens moves a wind bringing
death, I'll just keep going. Perpetual motion. Accidental
rain and leaves,filling the air with fear
rebellion. A religion I n-        ever thought I had.
and sweetness....pauses.        (Halfwhispering....halfsinging

stirs the always smiling chevaux de bois)

when you were in Paris we met here
                                          Inevitability.