Hold on
Wait by the window
Hold all your friends close
Wait for the sun
Hold on
I’ll be out soon, love
I’ll be out soon, darling
Just don’t go
Time is marching on
(Oh no)
Come now
We can go far south
We can go far from home
Anywhere you want
Come now
You’ll get a nice fluffy bed
A place to cool your head
Anything you want
Time is marching on
(Oh no)
Hold on
Wait by the window
Hold all your friends close
Wait for the sun
Done a lot of stupid things
under the guise of comfortability,
allowing yourself to slip between meanings,
normalizing the unnormal.
You look back with a twinge of disgust.
Not yet regret, but a pang
of foreign sickness.
Not prideful enough
to think your actions go
without consequence,
universally blessed.
But just egotistical enough
to assume in that moment,
everyone was looking at you.
I carefully titrate my caffeine
to peak midday and not midnight.
Somedays I miscalculate.
My heartbeats race, then trip.
Jagged handwriting.
I lie awake,
4 am,
begging
sleep.
Thoughts flow thru my mind
Like an old country stream
A slow, meandering brook
Following the same trusted path
It has for years
Then with no notice
The stream becomes a raging river
Overflowing it’s banks
Unpredictable
Sometimes frightening
And just as quick
The waters recede
The calm returns
I wade in again
But not too far
I’ve been here 5 years
and there are still boxes
under the stairs.
Things I’ve collected
Cords
Pictures
Keys…
And i think of my friend
who told me
everything she treasures
stays in a backpack.
Always ready to flee
if necessary.
And I think of myself
and how not a damn thing
would make it
into my pack.
You dyed your bangs red.
You’re alike enough to be loved.
I want to do that.
all these issues
what can you do?
it’s not you really
it’s The General You
not The Private You
in your own home
your own life
it’s one or someone
or somebody, not you
it’s The General You
certainly not The Captain You
in charge of others
productive and instructive
no, it’s The General You
not The Corporal You
who gives to The Salvation Army
or The Lieutenant You
who volunteers at the soup kitchen
and feels close to the front line
no it’s no that you
It’s The General You
who lets you have some space
see things from a distance
with him, not everything
has to be explained
it’s not about you,
all these issues,
so relax
and take off your shoes
A green wagon late model
that carried her in the lanes
couldn’t stop the bus either.
When three bodies cratered up on the bank
& public pure-white sheets
covered over on slate gray asphalt,
did she drive wrong? A mangled hub cap
from her frame shimmied while another car
with blinkers danced across the lines
her four pads of fingernails trapped
in the crackle of glass through
blood metal. Morning dew light
made magical mirror out of bumper
& panel. She semi groaned when
the damaged door caved on her
like a noiseless tongue wagging down memories.
The sound of red sirens hailed her.
She lay here, waiting
her labors in everything:
perhaps a child’s toy & blanket
torn apart like a utility bill
I want her to walk again,
to dance on floors,
to be twirled by notes
that would rock her like two-step
but she only laid in a gasoline pool
like a rare & tender chair
