Les plus lus ▸
Dave Bonta
Took leave of all the keys
and the old told clock
there in the city of money
where I drank an hour,
where a black chair resolved
to satisfy the bed.
And for what felt like the millionth time
I told them to stay, to wait,
stick around, smell those sweet roses
and that things would get better, eventually;
please stop dancing with the razor's blade
and come down off that stirr'd chair.
But they ever-so loved the chair,
as they stood there all the time
lingering, twirling that ebon blade;
and I could only urge them to wait
in hopes that someone, eventually
would help them with those thorn'd roses.
Though they did remind me so of roses,
sprawled around a gardener's chair
that he'd get around to dealing with eventually,
but letting them withstand the test of time
I know it's silly
but I used to play a game
in my head
trying to find a reason
to believe you might change
your mind
If that car turns left, you still love me
If it's not past midnight, you still love me
If that girl sits in that chair, you still love me
If it's sunny tomorrow, you still love me
and I don't think I ever really believed
that stupid game would mean anything
but now I know for sure it didn't
because that car turned left
it was not yet midnight
that girl sat in that chair
I told him
there is no
only way
and
having pulled
his chair from
under him
said
i dont like
your methods
the next time
i met him
he had half
a soapbox
glued to each foot
he felt foolish
I know not why, when I saw the little chair,
I suddenly desired to sit in it.
I know not why, when I sat in the little chair,
Everything changed, and life came back to me.
I am convinced no one at all has grown up in the house,
The break that I dreamed, itself was a dream and is broken.
I will sit in the little chair and wait,
Till the others come looking after me.
And if it is after nightfall they will come,
So much the better.
For the little chair holds me as tightly as death;
And rocking in it, I can hear it whisper strange things.