little bits of paper fly around the floor, around my feet. little scraps of dream caught in a whirlwind.
the golden child  grew up to be a golden calf. the false idol grew older and became a sacred cow. its funny how the future works out.
its funny being the star of your own movie. where did everyone go? the cameras are still rolling, but the film ran out a long time ago.
its the process thats important, right? i continue to make the motions and walk through the script. improvising the blank pages.
the ballroom is empty and i continue to dance. the tires are flat and i continue to drive. the plate is empty and i continue to eat.  
the satellites are gone and i continue to wave. the hum. i hear it in the rain. calling me. come out and play.
i hear it in the traffic. come out and play. i hear myself playing a song that i longer remember on a piano that no longer exists and i yawn. enough of that. nothing that was can help you with what is. it time to get dressed and go outside. and let the rain caress my face.
let the wind caress my body. to open my mouth and let the little scraps of dream flutter out into the whirlwind.
i am scared. i breath in and i breath out. slowly. its time. im going outside. into the rain.