hang me out

Hello to a few goodbyes

What white weather will give me writers block?

What water on windshield is washing my words away?

Which whippoorwill will warble some soft recompense

Yeah I know that I’m not making enough sense

Things to note

Or stuff i hope you’ll get,

And both are wishes aimed at

Sewing indemnity into the fabric of the sound

- a dusty, tobacco-burst-finshed Chromaharp sits upon a whitish formica table with classic foldable sections on either end

- An iphone rests six and two inches below, upon a green seat cushion that very well matches the peacock pattern of the tablecloth which hangs askance beneath the Chromaharp, tuned up above for the first time in ages

- This Chromaharp built with bars refracting mostly seventh and diminished chords as far as I can tell causing me to question its usefulness i.e. why it hasn’t been tuned before now

- Chords chosen in order of nostalgia or some such

- Iphone records pretty nicely when placed correctly and pretty weirdly when put in the right place however this time the cushion is crucial

Take a look around to see everyone the same - headed back to from where they came.

In the place where you live, where you work where love;

Take a look around, at the sky crashing down.

You can hide digging for gold, hide until you’ve half grown old - relive the old day to day, call yourself your getaway.

Or hide digging for oil,

revel in the spoils,

swallow the best parts, throw the bones to the sharks.

Then take a look around headed back to where you were.

Mark the exits -

“his and hers”

or whatever you prefer.

You get to spend it all on nothing, you get to eat it all yourself. You get to tell them all to go to hell - say the only thing you know how to cast like a spell.

You get to greet the rest of us when we get to where you are; Meet us all with open arms, string us up like Christmas charms -

and now get down on the ground.

Get down on the ground.

Get down on the ground.

Run for yr life

Said the poet to the thief

On his way to steal some more verbs

Run around in circles thinking everything’s alright

Is one

Big nothing

We can't ignore

Try as Try

Ignore we can't

Nothing big

I wasn't walking and I wasn't driving

I told my friends I must of been flying

The night that we gave away and left

So so little to go on

Oh go on and pretend it could ever be how it was

I convinced myself that but not in so many words

Mine were a prayer and a song never written

But you probably already knew that

And the moonshine washed over everything

I took it so hard that I didn't even sing

And the house it never was empty

And my solitude never left me alone

And the darkness on both sides of the glass

Terrified me so I never asked

I've been talking to our better angels you see

They reminded me there's so much more that I could be

Like a light that goes on and on and on and on

But only if I want it to

And a sermon just happened to happen sometimes

Between blank verse, prose, and misbegotten rhymes

We so hopelessly pantomime telling ourselves

We believe. We believe. We believe

And the truth is right where we left it

Where the sky it could collect it in time

And the rain came down like a parade

And you came back to me in the sound that it made