Sunday, August 2, 2009


And so I'm packin' my bags, and I'll figure this one out
I'm stackin' up my tags, and I'm going on a walk about

Sunny dust, and wind in my face, scruffy, with wings in the back
of my head, flowing behind like the life I left
like a sharp tack, a lonestar shining, waiting to poke and prick
and make that person bleed--healing

One step on the loose brown gravel, crunch crunch crunch
Not looking back, she's standing there, her hand held high
her wavy hair, blown by the whisps and hot breezes

Slung over my shoulder, a leather bag
full of trinkets and memories,
intangible memories, tied to these workable ideals
fumbling in my hands, my weathered hands

Up, walk. Ignore the pain, the root of it all
the bottom of this well, you call a home
A pin prick, gnawing in that familiar aching place
Taste the old memories of grace, but vomit the gall

Up, walk. Pretend the pain, a faux pearl of fond remain
Gone is the tide, the time, now only humane disdain
A glare and a squint from either party flows,
one with tears, no, two.

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