Where were we last Wednesday?

Wednesday is here and I am still digging through my coat pockets for the words I scrawled on a paper towel. 
The letters that spelled Change and Beginning, 
I suppose that is where all of us are hovering. 

but my fingers can't reach in that far. I've been letting them glide over the tops of freshly lined paper with the blue ink still burning.
but I cannot penetrate my own audience.

Sometimes I feel lost
in the language of mass cultures 
and in the surrounding of heart beat of people i've never met.
I only want to touch something
inside your chest or on the small of the back,
and carve there
some kind of legitimacy.
I want you to pretend that 
the small things matter when I enlarge them like this.

I still don't have the words to 
describe being infinite, or the discipline
to pick out individual instruments from a song. 
from the very first note 
they crash together like bodies dancing
to form a single period
at the end of a life-long sentence.
The songs are all the same 
with a beginning and an end,
except for the hushed secrets 
that we live in quiet parts.

the silence between falling down
and getting back up again.