Saturday, February 2, 2013

Bricks were made for building

There's comfort in architectural details
There's solace in the unbroken line
Of the crown moulding
Looking at bricks over and over again
As if bricks could talk
There's comfort in architectural details

I used to wonder if I was schizophrenic
There was a really weird number
On my MMPI
And I knew I didn't see the world
In a way similar to other people

But I never saw anything that wasn't there
No matter how hard I looked

I never stopped looking for someone else who saw
The pressure of conversations
The burden of always wondering
The grasping at intangibles

I chased and chased and chased
After meanings that escaped me
Meanings that are oh so obvious
To everybody else

(Somewhere there must be an angel)

I followed the lines in the highway
The stripes in the parking lot
The grids of human consumption
The Realtor's leftover scraps
Of Manifest Destiny

Grids upon grids
Lines upon lines
Sewers and electric
Gas and water
And hanging from poles

(Somewhere there must be a person)

It could never matter
As much as it mattered to me
The color of bricks
Their warmth in the sun

Brick after brick after brick
Stacked and purposeful
The only things that made sense
As the sea of people flowed around

I looked in people's eyes
Because I read in a book
That's what you're supposed to do
And, damn, did I look
But I never saw what I was
supposed to see

I suppose the sea was supposed to see

(Somewhere there must be an analogue)

Bricks were meant for building
Brick by brick, I build myself
Everyday, and again, everyday
Still looking for a perfect angel
Or am I looking for a perfect angle?

(Somewhere someone knows what I mean)

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