When we forgot how to sing
No song seems to do it.
There is always just one little step. left.
A key here… never really mentioned.
A stone…that was always somehow stuck.
Try to move, try (not) to rock.
We seem to be held up here on our own.
This boat aint no vagon.
There are no waves in the sand.
With our backs (slowly) turned
towards each other,
we speak only in tongues so exotic…
even to ourselves.
Where each and every lil’ movement and thought…
has to be traced back in reverse.
Remember that DeeJay,
with rocks and sand scratching records.
Well, that must’ve been us. (Don’t you think?)
We somehow forgot how to breathe
n when to spit.
The sand has made fine-trails
across our bones and our backs.
with just this one piece of an mountain,
forever in between us,
we spit it all back out in reverse.
As if words are just figures in a mirror,
that can only reflect or reject, (hands of silver)
but never really say,
what we had always hoped them to say.
I don’t know who made this fine-painted graveyard.
Was it our feet… or our heartbeats?
Everything… swirling and spinning…
through the twinfigured sandeye,
of our lives.
(Always looking ahead)