Saturday, 8 June 2013

airport conveyor belt

hmm sort of like, 
a dusty record
 hidden inside 
an old suitcase 
in an attic

it plays on automatic

 the paradisaical song

but to find it in a throng
-the right suit case-
amongst a hundred thousand others 

say..... on a conveyor belt at the airport

which one will it be?

see I know, I got these words inside of me 
yeah, hidden somewhere inside 
words; unblemished words
the words man, I'd really like to write

but they're buried so deep 
hmm one day, maybe they'll

right up and escape 
me, one day 
maybe I'll make 
the right choice, 
maybe I'll find my voice
as a being born on earth
(this earth, not earth two)

but still, I can't help feeling that
there's something missing 

something important 

something mind blowing 
some kind of knowing, 

some kind of knowing

not of this world 
to be able to find out what it is

to pick up the right suitcase
(no longer in the attic)

before it disappears again, 
the conveyor belt, it never waits
for certainty