Brooklyn FieLders
It’s always 10am
If I’m just passing through, I swear I won’t leave much of anything
behind. You won’t always know the sound of my voice, not in its
fullness. What you’ll feel, is its consciousness– a darkness tempting
the tip of your tongue. But once you allow it, it’s natural– a little
human and spiritual and mental– something like a cup of coffee.
Especially in the morning, when you’re alone and you’re reading
aloud, when your voice is still yours and I’m that same habitual
taste at the tip of your tongue. I’m not asking you to wake up from
all of this, to make plans, to go out into the world. But, to allow it,
the same way you allow me to pass through. Day after day, live for
the sound of your voice, when you’re alone, when your body is at
peace and your mind is held by these bird songs:
It’s always 10am, I’m disappearing at the tip of your tongue, and
everyone is gone, but held with the same weight, with the same flight,
as these bird songs.
If I’m just passing through, I swear I won’t leave much of anything
behind. You won’t always know the sound of my voice, not in its
fullness. What you’ll feel, is its consciousness– a darkness tempting
the tip of your tongue. But once you allow it, it’s natural– a little
human and spiritual and mental– something like a cup of coffee.
Especially in the morning, when you’re alone and you’re reading
aloud, when your voice is still yours and I’m that same habitual
taste at the tip of your tongue. I’m not asking you to wake up from
all of this, to make plans, to go out into the world. But, to allow it,
the same way you allow me to pass through. Day after day, live for
the sound of your voice, when you’re alone, when your body is at
peace and your mind is held by these bird songs:
It’s always 10am, I’m disappearing at the tip of your tongue, and
everyone is gone, but held with the same weight, with the same flight,
as these bird songs.