things have
.s.l.o.w.e.d. .d.o.w.n.
lately
and all i do is
move my pencillead
all day
feel like an ant
looking into an ant farm
but i'm wearing brown
while They're wearing plaid
so sometimes i slip
like a shadow.

so maybe i'm a stone
in a bagfull of marbles
i don't know
but sometimes i like being a stone
though the marbles move like water
while i bounce and
pieces of me chip off and scatter.
my dried dirt irritates me
but you gotta learn to love it.
it's hard.
so what do you do?
when you're tired of your handwriting
and your songs don't sound
anymore

sometimes though
i'm no longer a stone
but a nymph
dancing in a curtain of water
laughter like bells
mymph named anna
and
i talk through you
and i live through You
and my sweater smells good in the rain.

(i can see it there
little pinpoints of light
behind me on the river
and
you know
sometimes i wonder
if i'll ever be back there again.)