There was new life once
In this old house
Which echos lonely footsteps
—silence rants and raves—
Trudging towards Nirvana
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There was new life once
In this old house
Which echos lonely footsteps
—silence rants and raves—
Trudging towards Nirvana
Silence falls like snowflakes
Covering the field
Where birds like statues watch
My huckleberry heels
With frost left underfoot
The hallow ground revealed
Where doe tread light as feather
And sun spill bleeds me home
The evening air is still—
Black ice it lies in waiting—
Walking with the cold
I watch asphalt exhaling.
If winter had a home—
Or frost a day to rest—
It be within this heart,
It be within this breath.
What looked like yesterday
out a kitchen window I saw
tomorrow and everyday
moving forward
as carefree as
a walk in the park.
When I was a kid—after bedtime—as quietly as I could, I would crawl from my bed, onto the floor, then elbow and knee my way down the hallway to lay in the doorway of my brothers room to watch his television.
He’s four years older than I am and, well, I thought he was really cool.
One, for having a TV in his bedroom. And two, for probably knowing I was there but not saying anything.
Whatever he was watching didn’t really make a difference but it was comfortable there, on the carpet, with the blue light flashing.
A dark bedroom can be pretty scary to a child, especially during a thunderstorm.
Now that we’re older, we speak when it is necessary, but not all the time.
Probably less than either of us cares to admit.
He’s a busy working husband and parent while I’m pretty much all over the map.
Though when we do talk, it’s a meaningful talk of mutual reflection. He provides me with information from four years down the line and I remind him that I’m listening by offering whatever small insights are on my mind.
I thought he was great then and I still do now. No matter the distance the bond between two brothers is strong and unwavering.
Basically what I am saying is I look forward to the next time we’re able to watch a little TV, crack a couple jokes, and just hang out—without any pressure—even if it means the carpet or floor, that’ll be enough.
I never had the answer
for the question in my hand
I was told you just can’t stay here
so go collect your things
It must have felt like death there
long before he chose
The quietness of failure
in a house no longer home
I never asked for this hurt to be mine
I never felt more shameful by and by
I pushed it all away like it would disappear
I never knew a stranger who
I loved more dearly when he died.
Taylor calls for me from those stairs in Italy
I’m walking by a pay phone on the beach
Reminders from the East and a girl named Cicily
Talk me into circles out of reach
Send letters won’t you son to remind us what you’ve done
Don’t be a stranger call us once a week?
I buried what was left of my heartache in a trench
On that lonesome stretch of sand I was released
Now Bret he reads the lines in the background of my mind
There’s no one in this room to hear me sing
When journaling in thought feels like a raven’s claw
It’s Taylor who sits calmly next to me
The grass rests underneath her cheekbone by the sea
While chemicals channel flowing dreams
It’s 8am in August while I pour the gin and tonic
Listening to the ocean’s cresting wave
The cobblestone in Rome for which once walked me home
Now Cicily I hear her gently speak
There’s no such thing as time, if you believe that then that’s fine
But darling I’ve got no tears left to weep
I did my best to please the priest listening to me
Still Lucas rest assured me of my grief
I didn’t have to sail to France to find a girl to dance
I just went out every night for one last drink
So now as Taylor calls to me from those stairs in Italy
I pick her up once more from memory
I play my part as she sings me to sleep
I pick her up once more from memory
I play my part as she sings me to sleep
Come on my friend.
It’s time to go.
Where we’re going.
We don’t need roads.
Bring two cups of tea.
Bring your rabbit too.
I’ve got the whiskey shakes.
I think a quart will do.
I hear the grass is green.
Leave your blues at home.
On the other side.
Of this rabbit hole.
I’ve got the whiskey shakes.
I’m paranoid as hell.
You know I don’t take pills.
But this time oh well.
At the same time
everything is happy
everything is sad,
it’s where I’m at
and somehow
it isn’t all that bad.
Smile and a frown
features remain neutral
while cars pass down
Magnolia and “Córdoba,
Leyana y sola…”
my home
is just
an illusion
under cloud.
I can’t lie.
I love the way
you make me feel
meaningless,
like an orphan left
on the doorstep
of
the worlds welcome mat —
Ah! I’m home again.