Chapel Hill, NC
Please, my sweet, donít look into the sun
As it makes us all seem so frighteningly small;
Stare straight ahead-
The sheets are turned back on the bed,
And those voices you hear are just the silly
Drunk angels who live upstairs-
Donít pay them any mind.
We live in a universe of circles, deep purple
Excess of kings and queens held in check by
The turning of tides. Darling, quietly bide
Your time while I am gone: Iíll hear you
Breathing inside my own four walls.
In the moonlight, but donít go crying over a
Foolish fool like me. These rolling spheres,
They make it back to where they start; weíll never be
Apart, as the soul is not measured in miles.
[This message has been edited by Elliott (edited 04-11-2000).]