Tag: b/w

It was not a story to pass on
She opened the door, walked in and locked it tight behind her
He went to the window and wanted to cry
Nothing was in that shed, he knew, having been there early that morning
She had been dreaming it for years
Breathing and murmuring, breathing and murmuring
Just let me feel your fingers again on the back of my neck
I walked here. A long, long, long, long way
Some things go. Pass on. Some things just stay
Now come read a story with me
Machines were rumbling from inside it
I had to hold my breath as I stood there
Personally, I didn’t like the apartment much
I took them along a bumpy track
So I’m sick of talking about myself, sir
She put her hand on his shoulder
No one goes home empty-handed
His wife had just told him she was leaving him
He left a trail of sawdust wherever he went
And if you get lost, just look for yourself
He shook the man’s hand. Moist was the word
He knew how things worked again
His body was somewhere it had never been before
He was always too willing and nice, too considerate, too generous
Happiness might come the way of early morning
He never spoke anyway, so how could he have said anything wrong?
And then he took one step closer
He wondered whether he had counted right
There is nothing in his world but himself
I don’t think I have ever felt more alive, he thought
Your soul has become architecture
Wherever I looked, I saw me
I’ve never stayed anywhere else for any length of time
But you know? Time is heartbreaking
If you surrendered to the air, you could ride it
You think I don’t know how to walk when I want to walk?
When night came he just sat, at the foot of a tree
It moves and changes from one kind of black to another
Some just empty. Some like fingers. And it don’t stay still
There’re five or six kinds of black. Some silky, some woolly
You think dark is just one color, but it ain’t
He works quickly and with an air of extreme concentration
The man smiles when he sees that
He feels as if he were forgetting something
At home, the man sits with his eyes glued to the front door
But how could it have taken me so long to recognize my own self?
One day the man wakes up and finds that he does not feel like going to work
This afternoon I came here and buried fifty books below the water
And in the morning the land was cut in two
We’re all getting close now