Hey all. This is a strange one I found in my archives. You’ve been warned!
I am the enternal
I bring the aeth
For they are truth
And what better method of
Share the station it
On ly ge ts
Bus-ier after 4:06
God I could tell you so many wistful stories about when the 406 left that stop. There were people with french fries for fingers and less salt in their blood than a dedicated countetician could tax.
I could tell you about how the president’s daughter went all the way to Norway and back on that bus.
I could explain–in GREAT detail–just how blue the butterflies collide.
I could, and yet I could.
There is much blue in you child
No one with the other seven could see quite as well as we
Naught but the elixir of dreamlight could save you now
It comes to mind now. Take the 406, boy, after the noon bell swaths itself in musty autumn dress.
Take it past Norway. Take it to the very depths of your birth. Take it to the 7th constellation from the left of the big black sun no one cares to mention.
Gather the dust into your arms like it were the breathing infant you would one day inhabit
Gather the dust
Roll it all into a pillow
With the dance you learned
From the dead of winter.
Bring to life
Your sleeping world.
Bring it to surface
Can’t you yet sing??
Stare doubtfully at yourself
And whisper the darkest truth you can find.
There it will be seen