Spinning Yarns

Do you know how I know that you have no idea what MAKES a man?

Because I don't know. No one does. If we knew, what fun would that be?

A poem within a poem
a moment within a moment
Did you smell the burnt
remains
of your bagel as the girl behind the counter
cleaned the toaster, the cacophony of scrapes.
I found a song in that
crumbs are what will be left
of our New Yorker kind of breakfast
The newspaper article you point out to me
with the overly descriptive caption
The one lone car making its way
out--- I want out.
I want to be that car.
Not the driver, not the passenger
The car.
I want to feel your skin against my interior and hear you sing
along to the song blaring from my speakers
I want my bass to reverberate inside your chest cavity
keep my windows down so you can feel the breeze brush your face
with my sun roof those rays will always shine on you
when it rains I'll work hard to keep the view clear and light your way through any storm
I want to be able to see
you find friends, old and new
and hear you laugh
at inside jokes I may never understand.
And I want to see you cry.
I want to go so fast and break so many rules you beg to get out
I want to hear you scream and sense your panic
I want you to never forget fight-or-flight
you can make it
I will keep your heart pumping.


Update 08/15/09: This stays.

Update 08/16/09: This stays. I don't.