bad moon

Tears come from unexpected places. From between book pages, from across telephone wire, from in between cracks in the side walk, from brillant imaginations. And from these various locations of origin, they fall very far, burying themselves deep with the body of origin, for I do belive I carry each tear with me.

Why I wonder does their arrival come as unannounced as hail in an April sky, falling outside a farmers market of magnificant significance. Death, the idea and concept is not something I normally find to bother me, fascinate and speculate yes. But I believe, hope, that it is something that I accept.

And yet

How can it be so, to leave one half and not the other. While one fades like the rain that cannot falls from the sky but cannot reach the earth. Maybe it's to warm. Maybe it's to wet.

How.

So morbid on the eve of my birthday.

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Sent from my iPod