The hills across the valley of the Ebro
were long and white. On this side
there was no shade and no trees and the
station was between two lines of rails
in the sun. Close against the side of the
station there was the warm shadow of
the building and a curtain, made of strings
of bamboo beads, hung across the open door
into the bar, to keep out flies. The American
and the girl with him sat at a table in the
shade, outside the building. It was very hot
and the express from Barcelona would come
in forty minutes. It stopped at this junction
for two minutes and went to Madrid.
'What should we drink?' the girl asked.
She had taken off her hat and put it on the table.
i am natasha. i am a bomb.
bold, bare, frozen
Email.
NatashaAdorlee@Gmail.com
because i'd rather fill this space with nonsense.
natashaadorlee.com,
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Self_(psychology),
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Family,
Tuesday, July 21, 2009, 2:41 AM
A train ride to the city as she sweats
Graffiti on the shoulder passage
Discarded train tracks where they wreak
The pavement never seemed so clean
Against the filth of my beaten soles
Against the heat of their boring holes
But I knew long ago, that it was more then
Just a simple combination to escape the ease
It is diabolical plot against your bedroom hollow
And as I lick the walls and peel the paint
Maybe you will feed my empty reprise
The sunshine reflects from the blinds
I hold my tattered sweater close
It is the cascading of feasible minds
The purple flowers on their wall
Casting shadows on our petty pennies
Never bloomed after the frost of fall
But I knew long ago, its not perennial
And though it may never come back to me
I wont forget the way, it looked so long ago
As I walked by your garden trees
And it wont escape me, like a prisoner I hold it close
Onto the last remains of blank tomorrows
And with a white slip in hand, with no words to begin
I recite my empty pleas
But I knew long ago, that it was more then
Just a simple combination to escape the ease
It is diabolical plot against your bedroom hollow
And as I lick the walls and peel the paint
Maybe you will feed my empty reprise