"There's not much doubt in any of our minds that no complete idea springs fully formed from our brow,
needing only a handshake and a signature on the contract to send it off into the world to make twenty-five billion dollars.
The germ of the idea grows slowly..." - Walt Kelly

Thursday, June 7, 2012


The dull jazz horns of the city
blare out like a sudden scream,
captivating and violent,
cascading off the wind-dulled walls
of the fading neon facade.
The sharp fragments of sound
that finally meet my ears
are still biting, a cruel reminder
of the things I left behind there,
chances I never had the nerve to take
and voices mine could never match.
If, one day, I'm able to return,
I can only hope that the streets
still vibrate with that same energy,
a color so persuasive and imminent
as to never let you be still.
Then, maybe, I'll find the impulse
to do something I'd soon regret.

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Fionn Regan & The Staves, North Star Lover

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