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Backyard Gospel
There was a night below the architecture
Where the sea of songs was read
To the ones upset, to the waiting ones.
They felt their privacy was called upon
And the history of these romantics
Was robbed of them.
When you read me the nature of you,
The nature outside was breached.
Spread open like a wild fire
Of strangers voices and imagined bar fights,
Sirens and clanging keys and symbols.
I miss the night.
It wound me up into rattling dust.
I only know two things:
About love,
The fight.
The stance.
About keepsakes,
The memory.
The spirit.
I dragged along with me the dogs.
In the first day like this,
We bandage up the epitome of the void.
We seemed too slow to catch on.
In respite of the symphony of all that is unknown,
The daylight faded like the harbor from this ship.
The world can not clean the messes of men,
A shattered distance from here to the river bend.
I had the look of a torn lace on your boot,
Nothing like a little glue can’t fix.
Or cotton candy.
Or a gospel choir.
And in the backyard, it rains like hell
On these parked cars.
Oh, how I wonder insane, brother and sister,
In this trek that blistered my feet.
Solidarity is a joke
Like a one-sided coin flipped on the wrong side.
Even the leaves that fell on the windshield
Were fake.
These mistakes were mine,
The truth, a single porcupine,
Bent and curved on the end.
So, sshhhhh…
We pretend to be something heavenly,
Listen to it, the pretty shaped harmony.
A certain calamity has set me free
Brought in by the union of a sad little world,
Where the spider made a circled web
Around our fortified lives.
