Wind howls past

And rips the store sign from the store front.

I think of the girl next door

She's crying again, tonight.

Her tears in the wind

Fly against my cheek

As I'm out on the porch

Smelling the strong wind

With no scent at all.

I imagine with my nose

Smelling blues and greens and grays;


Absent colors.


Pocahontas murmurs a song woven in her hair

(She tells me things

That aren't there,

And I choose to believe them)

She tells me to knock on the door

With my knuckles and

She tells me it will open.


My cheek in my palm

My thoughts not in my head

They're flying past—past

The wind's ripping them away—away

Can't quite catch them—






I fall back

Into the arms

Of an Indian princess.

She tells me, "I told you so."

I sneer.

She smirks.


The girl next door cries softer, slower.

The girl next door is lulling, lulling


One last tear for tonight

Save the rest for tomorrow.

She heard my lullaby.

Thanks, Pocahontas.


I owe you one.

Majorly odd andnonsensical in all senses.Windy days make you do that. I feel the need to write more; I've been tapering off in my spam habits. ... ;; Hm.