Date:         Tue, 16 May 1995 18:20:39 -0700



 

Coming Across

by Catherine Boone

catheboo@cco.caltech.edu

 

Every morning when I wake,

I grab some coffee and some flakes;

I drive to work, read my mail,

Scan over OJ's murder trail.

 

I take the highway home each night

And curse the sun that blinds my sight.

I change my clothes, grab some grub,

Start cruising for another club.

 

I dance with the devil by the pale moonlight;

His touch is cold, his eyes are bright.

His fangs are bared, his growl is low-

What happens next, I do not know...

 

I wake with an insistent need.

Helpless, I begin to feed.

His death, I see, cannot be traced-

But what was his name, where was his face?

 

I look upon the stars on high,

And ask them for a reason why.

The cold, bright points do answer me,

"For every light, there darkness be."

 

So shut your door and lock it tight

From me and my eternal night,

But be careful if you pray to stars;

Their justice is not quite like ours.

 

I tell the stars, "Yes, now I see."

But I know it's far too late for me.

Look in my eyes; I'll tell you true-

It's also far too late for you.