| Packing all expressions away
|
| Folding the tiny fastener down
|
| Another day will see this manila
|
| Envelope opened again
|
| Where will you be, my friend? |
| oh
|
| Balcony at a piece of performance art
|
| Or the back booth of a culver’s
|
| Or a Marriott courtyard in some suburb
|
| Of some metropolitan area you’ve never been
|
| When will you be opening it again?
|
| Cannonballing off of the pier
|
| With your new bleach blonde hair
|
| I remember you well, but not why we were there
|
| Twenty-07, twelve years ago
|
| An impressionist old canvas of impressionable ego
|
| And although I suppose I could take it as proof it’s all makeshift
|
| The way the sun looks from inside of an eyelid
|
| Right now it makes me angry which we’ve learned
|
| Is merely sadness pushing outward, ever outward till it bursts
|
| Oh, we know you can’t be perfect
|
| Could you at least try to be good
|
| So you can say «this came out better than I thought it would»
|
| Ideally, by the time you settle down
|
| You’ll bring a lightness to your town and all those around
|
| Remember: every mayor, beloved NBA player, every saint’s
|
| Been caught in the perennial cliche you’re living now
|
| Siphon off a bit of the poise you seek
|
| Shaking your head glibly when they try to read your face and they guess you’re
|
| a pisces
|
| As if you’ve ever thought of it for longer than a minute
|
| As if you want to be here or give a shit
|
| Assume they’re giving one back, at this point a leap
|
| «I'm taurus» you crack, and they ask if you have weed
|
| And for the first time in at least a decade, you do truly wish you could say
|
| «Yes I do and it’s really good, let us go obfuscate
|
| This kitchenette we’re in
|
| Because i’m tired of my two friends
|
| I’m tired of congenial misery"
|
| But lying don’t come easy anymore, a hundred shoes outside the door but you
|
| can’t find yours
|
| And Life is full of subtle changes, this ain’t one, to some you’re lame;
|
| but you’re comfortable
|
| Maybe by the time you leave your town
|
| And get a thousand miles down you’ll turn around
|
| Because you miss the stale emotion and the sounds of train stops passing
|
| And all that you can’t stand to even think about right now |