It overtook the port town Fog thick as busy streets Swirving down the curve to miss a dear What else was hiding in those hills? Not my dreams- that's a given, they're always around the corner. Something further in the bush deeper in this hanging like gallows for this place. The lingering of a life? You brought us here but it's me the haze is following.

The naked ladies across the street Speak to me of wasted time, As being just so much flamboyant embellishment, Of some reality, Paragons of the conventional, They urge me to cease My self-indulgence of using time to think, And putting off the ambitious, immediacy of reaction, And i want to vow to those I see blooming...to myself, To burst cleanly and quickly forth into my nowness... newness... An unencumbered, simplified future. But I fear I am too melencholy by nature, And i seem to attract ...

Dear Scott, The absence mocks our presence, a funny thing about the dead; in the wake of winding down I get closer to throwing my bed frame out the window. It's only about shedding; it's only what we think we know we've most forgotten and the stillness of your slumer haunts me now. I was lucky- too lucky- to grow up surrounded by beautiful things. Spoiled by your subtle funny ways; missing your embrace. I'm running out of hostages, scott, to fill another evening. Only those that aren't right ...

Don't get yourself caught without something quick to say and don't stand so close to me Darlin', you might catch something. I thought hard enough to make myself dizzy, I cried through to meet the sun, and I drank long tall glasses of beer for what I don't know. I am alone here with no vice to face the morning. In the bible belt, conservatively settled. I need bohemia now.

I am Ophelia. I drown for reasons the world couldn't understand; I sink over loses out of my control. Pansies & daisies dress my corpse Fish naw my swollen fless and I lie silent.

Ophelia is turning in her grave- Why did I drown for this? The lingering begs. Waits for a Resurection but there just may be no revolution from here... In the wake of surrender or balance and the lingering still begs- and wonders- is there a difference?

Time continues its theft of memory, but does not erase any void. Months pass, seasons turn over, the years escape, but that is not always noted. The shadows of existance allow dreams to approach tragedy from a girls mind. Looking in the mirror today to see the reflection of you... Apperance can change with the frustration of loss.

Marinaded in your good fortune & thrown into the pan- burnt black to a crisp: burned like it was hell for I was never good- not to face some god, who would pass with me through mutual circles, but plug our respectively different square pegs. You are not your promises. And you laugh. Your best intentions left me in a box- again; with cream colored cement walls no razors, no locks and you tucked into your family at home... that never knew I existed. You are not your apologies. And still you lau...

I am exhausted... in the mirror is the face of Ophelia pressed beneath a troubled mind gasping under the weight of hunger... Are you speaking to me again? I bring nothing nothing nothing to the table- join these blue ghosts- a soul wrapped in megrims... I can not live with all this grief all encompassing yet... I can not drown. Give me your accident I envy your tragic luck.

Time continues its theft of memory, but does not erase any void. Months pass, seasons turn over, the years escape, but that is not always noted. The shadows of existance allow dreams to approach tragedy from a girls mind. Looking in the mirror today to see the reflection of you... Apperance can change with the frustration of loss.