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An astronaut lost his ring finger to the back of a grain truck |
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and I can't stop thinking about it. I'm thinking about it. |
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Thinking about it, I'm thinking about it. |
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Isn't everything strange? |
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Buildings as brick boxes to be opened, |
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turned sideways and cracked. |
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Except the what? that is inside is much too fluid, too fast. |
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The you and I that spiral past the windowsill, |
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the fire escape is on its back, |
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watching us swallowed up in the blue and green. |
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Flaring in the air with the vapor trails from all the first pages. |
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The same two color contrails that twist around every other color left crowded out. |
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A record played. The lights go out. |
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The Cineplex screen presents new strangled spectrums. |
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What we mean swallowed up in the blue and green. |
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1979 in a field with a bloody thumb. |
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Alone with the whir of the grain wheel hum. |
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Ten years since he saw us all. |
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He came back to never look another in the eye the same way again. |
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He walked inside, put his finger in the ice, and didn't flinch at all |
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He came back to never look another in the eye the same way again. |
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He walked inside and put his finger in the ice. |
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He walked inside, he didn't flinch at all. |
