written-surroundings

Fall 2010 California is a magnet for disasters waiting to happen, Ticking time bombs and smiles leaning towards frowns. When we tire of white sands and orange-skinned surfers, We would hold our feet below our bodies and move them, One before the other, And run eastward towards the promise of winters with snow. And on our way across the border we would meet bus-fulls of young girls From Kansas, Idaho, Missouri, Arkansas, Who've memorized Casablanca from opening to closing credits. They dream of svelte men in silk top hats and smooth suits With rouge on their cheeks and faceless girls in their arms. We would wind into Nevada and

You play with my heart not even trying, No intention, no denying, I'm fighting to close the gates of my heart, But it's a losing battle, Soon they'll be forced apart, These scars of mine are locked away, I'm trying to avoid jumping into the fray, But when I see you and hear your voice, I feel left without a choice, If this connection I feel is true, let it be, But if this is just a dream, then put an end to this fantasy.