Friday, August 03, 2007

the language of purple water

In Jack's House I am staring at the ceiling
We paint purple water here for hours
It drips from the ceiling to pool on the floor

In the shade of the lattice we talk about art,
but not our own
We talk about love
but not our own
We talk to the dog
We talk a lot
between the purple water

We read each other our latest works of heart
We listen to the Talking Heads, Franti, Buckley, Dylan, Roger Waters, and Jack Johnson
We dissect the music like fermented 7th grade laboratory frogs
As we ferment ourselves
with white wine and Bud Lite
We puff a pipe but not for long
We don't need much these days to get us off

The way we talk is our own
No one else knows
We talk with our bodies
We talk with our souls
In Jack's House I am free
In Jack's House I am at home
Living in purple water

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