Look at the palm of my hand fortune-teller.
Read the lines carefully. Say what you see.
Tell me my future is bright fortune-teller.
Find meaning in the bumps and zig-zaggery.

Do you know my song fortune-teller?
Have you listened through to the end?
Was it a beautiful song fortune-teller?
Would anyone play it again?

Hear the tones of my voice fortune-teller,
as it sails through the wind in the night.
Remember my foot steps fortune-teller,
as they walk steadily toward the light.

Do you know where I'm headed fortune-teller?
This road has many a curve and a twist.
Do you offer your guidance freely fortune-teller?
Im a lone traveller in the mist.

Sing me my song fortune-teller.
Sing my song from beginning to end.
Sing me my song fortune-teller.
When it is over, please sing it again.

Heart flutters pinch a breath,
when a little fear grips a throat.
And baffled words, like bastard demons,
rejected from hell trip rapidly
down to the floor- where at least
there is something to hold on to.
At least the floor isn't moving
like the rest of you.

Hold me down where it is safe,
where there is something
steady, permanent and real.
Hold me down where I cant escape,
from you, from myself, from
the way it should feel.

The blood flow is audible.
A sound heard by a cannibal
or maybe just consumptive flesh.
Who is to say? While this heart
beats back the dead- new memories
of old ghosts change color.
This soul is on the run.

Hold me down where it is safe.
Where there is something
steady, permanent, and real.
Hold me down where I cant escape,
from you, from myself, from
the way it should feel.

From however it is supposed to feel.

People speak to me in text and voice,
words and phrases, jokes and verse.
Words may uncover a subliminal choice
by humor, irony, or sarcasm most terse.

Pictures painted of one small life
become crisp visions into a human heart,
muddled moments of anxst and strife
are at the epicenter of why we start,
to notice, to care, to read between
the lines and laughter and silent pauses.
We connect with dreams, and sometimes glean,
the hopes and the fears and the causes,
for our common presence, and common love.
Our interests, talents, vices, and sins,
are noted, discussed, and exaggerated,
in a medium whereby souls dare rise above,
telephone wires, and cable box bins.
Around the globe, all of mankind has elaborated,
on current issues, science and philosophy
and every conversation has perpetuated
your individual importance to me.
Be it once said lest it be said never
your place in my heart remains forever.

Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant
sit divided by a white table cloth
and a bottle of champagne that
represents Katherine Hepburn.

Jimmy is fully intoxicated by Kate.
Cary drinks none, and maintains
a cool,yet aware, exterior while he suppresses
his deepest devotion and adoration for his "goddess"
as he amuses himself with Jimmy's expository remarks.

Oh to be Katherine Hepburn in A Philadelphia Story!