They’re terribly, terribly, terribly moody
—Björk (from Human Behaviour)
the freckles flecking the skin over
the tops of my cheekbones. am i
nine? so fresh-faced.
can’t remember the word that was
on my mind (did i speak it some
where between the dream it
came from to) as i was waking.
wake up, america! quack, quack!
it wasn’t a spoof it was an homage.
besides, i’m only ever catty when
i’m in a great mood. and i’m not
in a great mood very often.
“i was crying?” “he was crying.”
“shut up!”
nostalgia kicks in as the burden
of youth is lifted. actuality goes
unremembered. instead there are
a few tableaux, the faint recollection
of emotions twisted (tainted) by time.
a harp’s melodic somersault over
life’s peaks and valleys. the
tragedy of a last hurrah, how it
sticks with us, suspensefully.
impossible to placate,
day in, day out, something
always stirring at our depths,
unshook.
—Björk (from Human Behaviour)
the freckles flecking the skin over
the tops of my cheekbones. am i
nine? so fresh-faced.
can’t remember the word that was
on my mind (did i speak it some
where between the dream it
came from to) as i was waking.
wake up, america! quack, quack!
it wasn’t a spoof it was an homage.
besides, i’m only ever catty when
i’m in a great mood. and i’m not
in a great mood very often.
“i was crying?” “he was crying.”
“shut up!”
nostalgia kicks in as the burden
of youth is lifted. actuality goes
unremembered. instead there are
a few tableaux, the faint recollection
of emotions twisted (tainted) by time.
a harp’s melodic somersault over
life’s peaks and valleys. the
tragedy of a last hurrah, how it
sticks with us, suspensefully.
impossible to placate,
day in, day out, something
always stirring at our depths,
unshook.
