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message for the beekeeper

why do her songs always bring my ghosts in for tea? rising silently sullenly from their graves. and laughing. they tell me not to worry they tell me not to cry. anymore.

why couldn't i just meet her once? i just have a few words to say. not in some obsessive sycophantic way. dye my hair red and swear i look like her or at least a distant cousin. no it's not like that for me.

is it possible to be so connected with someone you've never met? a sister of sorts. well she held my hand through the hurricane and all i wanted to do was to thank her.

and to offer her a watercolor stain of my own.

but the empress of coins doesn't smile on me often. not in that way. and maybe i don't want to see her anyhow. not really. just a shivering canary in a pumpkin carriage. and what would i really say anyhow? that could measure how she's touched me and my art.

i'll just have to live in the in betweens and know she steals from my own dreams and i steal from hers.

and if there is a heavenly mother shaman. a lovely beekeeper -

she'll bring the two of us together some sunny afternoon in a little cafe beside cobblestone streets on afterlife avenue.

and maybe then, i'll have something larger than words.

to offer.

this is me...again...as taken by the brilliant alina smith...watch for her pictures on the cover of rolling stone soon. or hopefully more exalted ground...and here are a few more

5:21 p.m. - 2005-02-25
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