Monday, November 23, 2009

slow sun

I remember walking on the backs of butterflies

oh, how we were care-less then

drawing maps with imaginary borderlines

writing letters we would never send

when I drive now, it's with the windows up

my thoughts on an old friend

he tells me that his feet are cold

I tell him it's just the wind

If you can't tell the future, then I can"t tell you anything

I remember cooking hot dogs around a fire and talking with my friends

transparent defense



V.I. Lenin

check's in the mail

you got goood taste

Monday, November 2, 2009