you can't fake hope you can't fake hallelujah
you can't take stakes in a race with no
fill in the blank hold me love it's a fantasy again
it's going by faster than a sigh.

did i just?
well i had it then i think i must have outran the moment
in a quick glance at time's rushing i can't help the way i feel.


in her turn to listen she maybe has her back to me,

sonically, if you could put your ear here to hear this,
i'm here wishing you could sing along to this dream
i've had one hundred thousand times in a sequence
of counting you out and then in.

but it all feigns does it not when it took too long to
fall this short
who will feed the kids
i've lost the job again
please don't fault me for wanting this so bad.
i can't fix my appetite to have this jewel in my life


i'm not one to be starving for expensive things,
and i should trust this judgment about not right now
but right now feels all too right. good thing i am not
sure where it hides because i would spend forever
and whatever it takes digging against the red ecks

hold me,
i wish that i could change it, here is a shiny golden coin for more trust.
ten more for a well deep enough to bury my priceless impatience
and just three more wishes,
like the sun, like the sun


on fire of course,
when i stop to think about how my mind thinks & infatuates at things
it is one of those scenes where i am standing still
in the middle of a busy city street cars everywhere zooming
and everything is spinning flashing by me in blurry neon streams
maybe just like you imagined it would be for me,
except it is just like that all the time,


the melotron is kicking,
the whole room is up against swaying to the french music i planned
going all the way home after a day
of lacking in faith & how many facades to my precious gem


the short song on repeat,
"je gaspille mon temps au moulin à vent
je ne gaspille pas mon temps au moulin à vent
elle ressemble à une brise mais j'ai besoin plus"


at this point i can only hum along in misery and joy
you aren't my
You are my
go along with the lyrics
i couldnt have written for that little tune,

we will dance across the dry face of the moon
and until it's done and the jewel is in my hand
sparkly,
take me away for now i am not the giant i need be
& i will have my fingernails to the wood.
&

i am most sorry for the splinters i have stolen,
i embrace the pain, i can't help the way i feel.

10/27/2008

Author's Note: a letter to God. weak and wishing...needing to show full trust in my impatience to settle down.

Posted on 10/27/2008
Copyright © 2024 Steven Kenworthy