Topic: My thanks to Lewis & Clarke (though they know not what they've done)
It's good that you're the belle of my ball. All the choices you make lead to the next choice you'll make. I walk over your dress that lay there on the ground. Down beneath my feet it . . . well it won't find me growing old, getting old, learning to forget. Trying not to forget. Forgetting just the same. It's always just all the same.
Like when you reached for the honey in the hive. Like when you said the water on the ground was like the color of the sky, then looked at the sky and saw the puddle on the ground. When I looked at pictures from your past I thought I saw myself. No then I thought I saw my coat, hung over on a chair, not mine. It was just as though I waited there. Like before, when you reached for the honey in the hive. Was it Advent, or was it Lent? You cannot pretend You cannot act on faith, today. Don't stop now, it's not your choice, it's not your faith that will let you down. It was Lent and your faith had let you down. . . .again.
When the color of your sky, it hits the ground, there by my puddle in your sky it all makes sense. Like your dress that lay there on the ground, beneath my feet. Holidays and unpaid bills like water from a faucet in a glass, now Holy Ghost. No getting, now cannot forget, the waiting for no reaching for now faith. My secret wish to not reach for faith but for faith to reach for me. It all makes sense and I can't forget, like you can't show what made you reach for the honey in the hive.
That dress looked like an ugly island . . . floating on some bloody water that looked ugly too. Here's the secret wish I wanted never to be lived as all the colors began to drown in your great puddle in your sky. Can't it wait until the sun starts to fade away?
August orange but August crescent cool moon sunless. As the sun went down it scarcely drew a close to the day.
It's good that you're the belle of my ball.